


I'll tie your hakama

by Sylphid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A case study of how many shades of blue I can include in one chapter, Alternate Universe - High School, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Karuta Team AU, M/M, Sheith is established
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9680780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphid/pseuds/Sylphid
Summary: They only need one more member to form an official karuta club. Hunk claims he knows a guy.Or,Instead of piloting giant robot lions, the Voltron kiddos now swipe at rectangles of extra-thick card stock with Japanese poems printed on them. Apparently, poems in different languages make the heart grow fonder.





	1. My old memories are more

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you so much to akishime for beta'ing! This will have five chapters total, one for each lion pilot. It will also feature Keith/Shiro, but I figured I'd wait until it actually comes up to put it in the tags. This whole fic will probably make more sense if you've seen Chihayafuru, but if not, it's still readable (hopefully)! On that note, I hope y'all enjoy!

_Lance_

_“Let the winds of heaven blow through the paths among the clouds and close their gates. Then, for a while, I could detain these messengers in maiden form.”_

Hunk closes the book and smiles. “Come on, you can’t tell me that _doesn’t_ sound awesome.” He pauses. “Well, they sound even cooler in Japanese, but if you don’t know the poems, it’s kinda hard to understand.”

“Hunk, buddy, you gotta stop reading me all this artsy mumbo jumbo. I am _not_ joining your team!” Lance whines as he stares at his math homework with a certain fury. The same problem had been plaguing him for the past fifteen poems. “Karuta isn’t gonna help me get the ladies!”

“But you promised!” 

Lance looks up, brows furrowed and nose scrunched. “When and why would I have _ever_ done that, Hunk?”

“We were in middle school! Mrs. Herr was the club advisor?”

“Oh my god,” Lance murmurs as he remembers the heavyset, no excuses German woman that wasn’t afraid of slapping a kid’s behind when they were out of line. He shakes his head. “Either way, I was just a kid.”

Hunk closes his eyes and hums, running a hand through his wavy hair. _“Though he forsook me, for myself I do not care: He made a promise, and his life, which is forsworn, oh how pitiful that is.”_

“Hunk!”

The boy raises his hands up and puts his head down as he gets up from his chair. “Look, all I’m saying is you’re gonna end up wishing you accepted my invitation.” Hunk turns to leave, a slight bounce in his step before looking back to give Lance one last look. “And you’ve been taking the derivative this whole time, not the integral.”

Lance cries out.

* * *

How often was it, that Lance found himself taking makeup tests after hours?

_Too often_ , Lance thinks.

And so when he’s finally done, done with the math problem and the professor and the musty old building people have taken to calling a “school,” Lance sprints out of the classroom, fast enough that the “ _don’t run in the hallways!_ ” from his teacher sounds fogged and filmy.

He blasts through the double doors of the back entrance, paying no heed to the clatter of baseball bats to his right or the thwack of tennis rackets to his left. The fastest way home is along the pond by the old middle school building, so that’s where he heads. 

The matured building sits exhausted, with bricks missing in places and bushes yellowed with age and ignorance. It likely would’ve been condemned if it weren’t so useful as a storage building.

Or as the meeting place of the karuta club.

Lance slows his pace as he passes the glass sliding door, stopping just shy of the entrance. He steels himself, ready to walk by without a glance, hoping that they wouldn’t notice. 

A melodic voice and a thud stops him.

_“Kaze o itami, iwa utsu nami no, onore nomi.”_  
_(Like a driven wave, dashed by fierce winds on a rock, so am I: alone.)_

“Curse you, _Mullet_! That was mine!”

“Quiet, Pidge. Hunk hasn’t finished reading.”

Lances hears Hunk deep, sonorous voice again, and he puts his ear against the wall of the building.

_“Kudakete mono o, omou koro kana.”_  
_(And crushed upon the shore, remembering what has been.)_

Hunk’s voice rings out, the bold syllables leaving his tongue as if in song.

“It was a good try, Pidge,” says Mullet. “But it looks like _I’m_ the winner of today’s match.”

“Oh, fuck off--”

“Pidge!” Hunk yelps, and Lance imagines that the boy has taken up ‘Pidge’ in a bear hug and covered her mouth. “Language!”

Before Lance can stop himself, he lets out the loudest guffaw he’s ever made.

He freezes and feels fear well up deep inside his chest, but the room has already gone silent, and someone is walking towards the door, and _where the hell should he run to, there aren’t any trees for cover!_

The door clacks and clangs as it slides open, and suddenly, Hunk is peering down at the crouched figure of Lance with a wide, Cheshire grin. “Hey, look who’s here!”

“I’m not joining your stupid club!” Lance sputters as he stares at the dirt that he’s practically laying in, his face heating up and his hands clenched into fists.

Hunk’s eyebrows find a new home near his canary yellow headband. “Then why were you spying on us?”

“I wasn’t spying! I just... thought someone was getting beaten up in there, with all the pounding going on! Like, who pissed you off?”

“Mm, I’m sure, I’m sure…” Hunk says, trailing off. “Well, if you’d like, you can make sure we aren’t, uh, _pummeling_ each other inside of the building rather than outside of it.”

Lance gets up one leg at a time, brushing the soil from his pants as he struggles to his feet. _Maybe just in case..._ “I mean, _someone_ has to take care of you guys.” Lance shrugs and tilts his proud head. “I guess I’ll just have to be the sacrificial lamb here.”

Hunk snorts and gestures for him to go inside. Upon entering, three new pairs of eyes greet him. Or, rather, one pair of eyes greets him. The other two, belonging to Mullet and Pidge, are leering into his very soul.

Mullet speaks up first. “ _This_ is the guy?”

“You’ve said four words, and I already don’t like you,” Lance counters.

“Good. You’re free to leave, then.”

“Keith, we need a fifth player. Let’s at least give him a shot,” the boy with the weird undercut says and the even weirder nose scar. Lance likes him. He’s the only one that didn’t look like he wanted to kill him as soon as he came in. He’ll definitely have to get to know him first--

_Wait a second._

“Whoa, hold up! I didn’t say I was joining!” Lance turns to Hunk and does some leering of his own. “Hunk!”

Hunk’s eyes go big. He pouts and puts his hands together. “Pleeeeease?”

_Damn Hunk and his pout._

“One game! Then I leave!”

“Yes! Thank you, Lance!” Hunk says, pulling Lance by the hand to the tatami mat. “Alright, you can play me for your first match.”

Undercut makes a face. “We want him to _join_ the team, right?”

Hunk frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re gonna destroy him,” Keith deadpans. 

_What happened to me making sure that no one got pummeled in here…?_

Pidge pushes her glasses up. “At least teach him the rules first.”

“Oh, come on, Lance knows how to play karuta!” Hunk starts, rolling his eyes. “Right, Lance?”

“Karuta has rules?”

Undercut stands up and claps his hands together. “Alright! Let’s just introduce ourselves first, and then we can get down to the nitty gritty stuff about how to play karuta. Sound good?”

There are a few grumbles, but no one objects.

“I’ll start. My name is Takashi Shirogane, but everyone calls me Shiro. I’m an A-Rank player and captain of the club.” He finishes with a slight bow of his head, and from that alone, Lance knows to respect him. He nods at Keith to get him to introduce himself as well.

Keith sighs.

_Asshole._

“Yeah, yeah. Name’s Keith Kogane. B-Rank.” Keith doesn’t care to elaborate past that.

“Aw, can’t hold your own with the big boys up in A-Rank?” Lance sneers, but the pregnant silence he’s met with indicates that he struck a chord. Hunk’s tapping his teeth with his fingers, Pidge is looking away, and Shiro is rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… Sorry, dude.”

“Anyway!” Hunk interrupts, waving his hands. “I’m Hunk, but you knew that! I’m an A-Rank that specializes in two-syllable cards and colorful poems!” He nudges Keith before continuing. “This guy neglected to mention it, but his specialty is one syllable cards.”

Keith harrumphs, but otherwise keeps his arms crossed against his chest and stays silent.

Hunk turns to Pidge, who Lance already knows by the room’s previous outbursts, but he lets her introduce herself nonetheless. “Pidge?”

“You kinda ruin the introduction if you say my name, Hunk,” Pidge mutters, shaking her head. 

“It’s alright, I caught it earlier,” Lance comments.

“Mm, I’m glad our fifth member is an eavesdropper,” Pidge hums, before breaking into a small, contained laugh. “I’m Katie. Katie Holt. But call me Pidge. I’m an A-Rank that’s good at cutting down multi-syllable cards into one-syllable cards.”

Lance is about to open his mouth, but Hunk interrupts. “We’ll get to that. Let’s talk about the rules, first.” He clears his throat and straightens up from his seated position on the floor. “Karuta revolves around poetry--specifically, the poems from the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu. From the translation, I’m sure you realize that there are 100 poems, each by different poets. They’re all tankas, following a syllable count of 5-7-5-7-7.”

“Yeah, we learned about them in class,” Lance responds, nodding.

Hunk continues. “In a karuta match, there are fifty cards, each with the second verse of one of the poems printed on them, and each player gets twenty-five of the fifty. The other fifty cards are unused; those poems are considered dead. There’s a fifteen minute memorization period, where you’re expected to learn the positions of the cards.”

Lance's eyes go almost comically round and he takes a heaving breath.“We have to memorize all of them?”

Hunk goes on as if he didn’t hear him. “The reader, who starts by reading a specific opening poem, will read one poem after another, starting with the first verse. As soon as you’re able to discern which poem it is, you swipe at the card with the second verse of that poem on it.”

He proceeds to demonstrate going for a card; his arm extends swiftly, his elbow unfolding at a precise moment in time, no energy wasted. He does it a second time--his arm completely fluid, each muscle turning to water as he swipes at an invisible card.

“Don’t overextend yourself though,” Shiro chimes in. “Hunk’s been playing for a long time; his arm can handle the exertion.”

“Exertion?” Lance scoffs. “We’re talking about a poem game. How much could I possibly exert myself?”

Keith snorts and stands up. “You’d be surprised. Some people lose up two kilograms of their weight after a full day of playing in a karuta tournament.”

“You lose weight?”

“Quiet!” Pidge scolds, flicking Lance in the back of the head. “Let Hunk finish!”

Hunk smiles at Pidge before turning back to Lance. “The first player to remove all the cards from their side wins. If you take a card from your side, you simply move it out of play to a pile on your side. If you take a card from your opponent’s side, however, you get to give the opponent one of your cards.”

“You really only have to touch the card to ‘take’ it,” Shiro inputs, noting the confusion in Lance’s eyes. “But you have to be patient and precise. Mistakes will cost you.”

“Right. There are faults in karuta,” Hunk adds, laying out some cards to demonstrate. He sets five in front of him and five in front of Lance. “There are generally considered to be four _otetsuki_ in karuta. The first two are single faults: touching the wrong card in the wrong territory and touching a card when a dead card is read.”

“Doing either of those lets your opponent transfer a card to you,” Pidge says, grimacing. _I wonder if it cost her a match once._ “But touching the wrong card in the same territory as the card being read does not incur a penalty. So feel free to whack away at any cards near the one you want,” Pidge finishes with a smile, although it feels forced.

Hunk smiles sadly at Pidge, almost as if to reassure her, but it’s to no avail, as Pidge looks away soon after. “Double faults are worse, though; if you touch a card in the wrong territory,” he starts, touching a card on Lance’s side, “and your opponent takes the correct card from _your_ territory,” he continues, taking Lance’s hand and putting it on one of his cards, “they get to give you two cards.”

“And if you hit a card in both territories on a dead card, the opponent gives you two cards,” Keith adds,

“Harsh,” Lance mutters, scratching his head. Karuta just got way too complicated for his taste. He shrugs it off and sits cross-legged across from Hunk. “Let’s do this, then. _One_ game.”

“Fine, fine,” Hunk says, laughing. “But I promise, you’ll want more.”

Shiro approached an ornate looking box, covered with beautiful ukiyo-e designs. “I’ll read. Pidge, play Keith again.”

"Get ready to lose by ten, _Mullet_ ," Pidge snarls, getting down on her knees across from Keith. "And you can say goodbye to your precious one-syllables this time!"

“In your dreams,” Keith retorts simply.

“Lance, you’re gonna want to sit on your calves,” Shiro suggests, eyeing the too relaxed form of Lance on the mat. “You won’t be able to beat Hunk to any of the cards sitting like that.”

Lance rolls his eyes. _I can beat Hunk in a game of speed. Please. I’ve known the guy since elementary school. He’s not fast._ But he heeds Shiro’s advice anyway, getting on his haunches, resting his hands on his thighs. 

“Alright, let’s start,” Shiro announces.

He clears his throat and reads the opening poem.

* * *

Hunk has 5 cards left on his side. Lance has 25.

“How…” Lance murmurs, his eyes wide open, but unseeing, his ears perked, but unlistening. “How have I not taken a single card!”

“Lance… Find a card you like. And don’t let me get it!” Hunk offers.

_Great advice, buddy. Easier said than done._

Shiro clears his throat, finishing the second verse of the previous poem. 

_“Tada ariake no, tsuki zo nokoreru.”_  
_(The only thing I found was the moon of early dawn.)_

Lance finds that Shiro’s voice, while completely different than Hunk’s, took on the same reverent tone as he sang the poems. It was entrancing, in a way.

There’s silence.

_“Yo o--”_

Two thuds follow, and a card flies out of Lance’s line of sight as Hunk stays leaned forward, his arm still extended. _Unbelievable..._

_“--komete, tori no sorane, wa hakaru tomo.”_  
_(The rooster's crowing in the middle of the night deceived the hearers;)_

_Think Lance, think! Which card do you want?!_

He scans over the cards in his zone, and then over the ones in Hunk’s. _Which one means something to me?!_

And then he sees it. It’s small, barely noticeable--a bubble in the ocean of cards. But it’s there; the slightest tinge of blue, washing over a card by Hunk’s left leg. 

Shiro finishes the second verse.

_“--Yo ni Osaka no seki wa yurusaji.”_  
_(But at Osaka's gateway the guards are never fooled.)_

_If I can just get that card! Concentrate Lance, concentrate. As long as Shiro reads that card, I won’t let Hunk touch it before me._

Lance closes his eyes and breathes out. 

Silence.

_“Momo--”_

“It’s mine!” Lance yells, lunging towards the card and collapsing unceremoniously on top of the field of poems. Hunk’s hand is moving there too; quickly, to boot. _But I’ll get there first!_ Lance’s fingers touch the hard plastic, and suddenly the card is flying.

It soars; past Hunk, past Pidge and Keith, past Shiro. With a thwack, it hits the glass door.

Everyone is silent, Lance included. Shiro hasn’t even finished the poem.

Hunk smiles.

“Well, go get your card, Lance.”

He has to push himself off the ground, his legs somehow not finding the strength to stand on his own after sitting throughout the match. Staggering, he goes to the card and picks it up, holding it in front of his face with both of his hands. He recites the entire poem.

_“Momoshiki ya, furuki nokiba no, shinobu ni mo; Nao amari aru, mukashi nari keri._ In this ancient house, paved with a hundred stones, ferns grow in the eaves; But numerous as they are, my old memories are more.” Lance reads the English aloud too. “My first card…”

Suddenly, everyone’s clapping, even grumpy, old Keith. “Congrats, dude,” Hunk says, roping an arm around Lance’s neck and _when did Hunk get behind me?_ “The first card is always the best one.”

Lance flushes, feeling a little bit of warmth in his cheeks. “T-Thanks,” he manages to stammer, and he hopes no one notices that he’s blushing, but Pidge is snickering off to the side, so he knows he’s doomed.

“Why’d you pick that one?” Hunk inquires, hand still on Lance’s shoulder.

“You’re uh, gonna think this sounds really stupid,” Lance starts.

“Try me,” Hunk says, letting his lips bend into one of his toothless grins, and Lance about crumples to his knees with how adorable it looks.

Lance coughs and rubs his neck sheepishly. “The card was uh… blue.”

“Blue?” Keith says with a snort. “That card is black and white, with a green border. Are you sure you aren’t colorblind?”

“Look, it felt blue to me!” Lance yells, defending himself. “The poem itself was blue. The ancient house was full of memories… I thought about my old home back in Cuba, right near the beach, where the waters were deep and full and--”

“Blue,” Hunk finishes, his cheeks dimpled and his eyes twinkling. 

Lance looks down at the tatami mat and smiles too. “Yeah. I’ve got tons of good memories of my family back there. Somehow, that poem just made sense to me.” He shakes his head. “That probably sounds really stupid.”

“Not at all,” Hunk says, shaking his own head. “I have my own cards like that. When I see the cards on the mat, I see a rainbow. Deep reds and bright green, all scattered across the tatami…”

Hunk looks at Lance, eyes crinkled and lips curved upward. “Karuta is full of colors!”

Lance’s heart skips a beat.

Taking Hunk’s hand, he heads back over to the mat; he holds his hand up so Shiro knows he’s passing a card. It doesn’t matter which one he sends--he knows he won’t take another one. But still, principles are important.

“I’ll join this team on one condition.”

Hunk stares at him attentively, and Shiro waits with bated breath. But Pidge and Keith fix him a dead gaze, not knowing what to expect.

“Keith cuts off his mullet!”

There’s a collective groan.

* * *

The day of Lance’s first karuta team tournament finally arrives, and while he’d like to focus on the upcoming matches and all the poems he doesn’t have memorized yet, he’s too busy complaining about the wardrobe.

“Why are we wearing dresses?” Lance says, tugging at the cornflower blue kimono he’s wearing.

Pidge snorts. “If you’re so worried about your manhood, stop giving Hunk googly eyes all the time.” Lance splutters, but Pidge doesn’t give him time to lodge a complaint. “And kimono are robes, not dresses.” With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she eyes a pile of neatly folded garments in the corner by their stuff. “If anything here is close to being a dress, it’s the hakama that we put on.”

Lance groans and buries his face in his hands. “So Hunk will be wearing a dress, then.”

“A _kimono_ and a _hakama_ ,” Pidge corrects. “We all will.”

A sigh escapes through Lance’s lips, and he slumps against the wall.

“Except for Hunk. He’s actually wearing a dress.”

“What?!”

Pidge smirks and pats Lance on the back. “Jeez, calm down, lover boy. You need to focus more on the match.” She places a crooked finger on her bottom lip and looks toward the ceiling, as if in deep thought. “Well, Shiro, Hunk, and I will probably win, so you don’t really have to. But you still need to try!” 

With one more pat, Pidge gets up and leaves their team’s room. 

Unable to stop the growing pit in his stomach, Lance poses one more question: “Wait, so is Hunk wearing a dress or not?!”

“He’s not wearing a dress, you dolt!” Pidge yells back, slamming the sliding wooden door shut.

As much as the thought of seeing Hunk in a dress makes him squirm in his seat, Lance can’t get something else Pidge said out of his head.

_“Well, Shiro, Hunk, and I will probably win, so you don’t really have to.”_

_I knew going into this that I wasn’t gonna be doing much of the winning for the team… But to be told out front that I’m a damn placeholder?_

Lance leans forward and shakes his head toward the ground.

_Sure, I’ve lost all my matches so far, but…_

_But what?_

_I’m not making progress._

_Why the hell am I still here?_

He slams his fist into the wall behind him, the wood behind the plaster threatening to break apart with creaks and groans. His eyes are still trained on the ground, and there’s a moisture that threatens to run down his face by the bucket.

_Why?_

The panel door slides open slowly, and Hunk peers in. “Is everything alright in here? I heard a thud.”

“Everything’s fine--”

“Oh my god, Lance, are you alright?!” Hunk blurts, rushing over and taking a knee at Lance’s side. _Stupid, kind, Hunk._

Lance rubs at his eyes, hoping that his hands are as effective as tissues. “I told you, buddy, I’m fine--”

Hunk grabs both of Lance’s wrists and stares him in the face. “You most certainly are _not_ fine, Lance!” He absentmindedly starts rubbing circles on the inside of Lance’s wrists with his thumbs, and it takes all of his self-control not to whimper. “What’s the matter?”

The room goes silent, save for a few sniffles from Lance. But Hunk’s focused eyes voice an intense, yet soft concern. 

“I want to quit the team.”

Hunk keeps ahold of Lance’s wrists, but he averts his gaze. “I-Is there a particular reason you want to quit the team?” he coughs, although Lance is _sure_ that Hunk wasn’t sick when he got here this morning.

Lance looks down at the floor. “Because I’m not on this team to help you guys win. I’m here to be the fifth member. The _qualifying_ member."

This time the silence is suffocating, and it probably has something to do with the fact that neither of them are breathing, but Lance feels so crowded against that wooden panel of a wall. 

“Since when has karuta has been about winning?” Hunk breathes.

Lance lifts his head up and looks at Hunk, eyes wide.

“You had fun when you played against us, right?”

No response.

Hunk pauses. “You didn’t win any of those matches. So why did you keep playing?”

“I…” Lance starts, letting his eyes lid a little. “I wanted to get better. And getting one of my favorite cards was always the best feeling in the world.” Suddenly, he slides his hands under and grips the other boy’s forearms.

“A-And, it didn’t hurt seeing you so happy,” he finishes, looking up at Hunk’s forehead. 

Hunk has barely breathed since Lance grabbed his arms, but he finally finds the energy to close his mouth and smile. Without a word, he gets up and pulls Lance up with him. “Wait here a moment.” He walks to the corner of the room with the solemnity of a heron, in spite of his size, and once there, he grabs the smalt hakama from the pile of garments and shakes it, letting air open up the creases and folds in the silk.

He returns to Lance, not taking his eyes off the hakama or the ground. “We’ve been waiting to use this blue one for some time now.” Hunk abruptly raises his head to meet Lance’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re the one that gets to wear it, Lance.”

“Stop it,” Lance says, chuckling and rubbing his neck. He’s still crying a little. “You’re so cheesy. It’s ridiculous.”

“Can I tie your hakama?”

Lance holds out his hands, and with slightly bleary eyes and a runny nose, he replies. “Be my guest, I still don’t know how any of this stuff works.”

He smiles and takes the obi into his hands, spinning Lance so that he could work from his backside. Hunk lifts the sash above Lance’s head and brings it down to his navel, tying the royal blue obi into an under-hakama knot at his backside. “There are four straps on a hakama, two longer ones in the front, and two shorter ones in the back.”

Swift hands wrap the two front straps around Lance’s back, then to the front, then once again to his back, where Hunk ties them together under the obi knot. “The front straps make the back knot, and the back straps make the front knot,” he continues, smoothing out any wrinkles in Lance’s kimono, his smooth, warm hands making Lance shiver. “The back knot is uninteresting, but the front knot is special--for us guys, it’s a two bowtie cross.”

Hunk spins Lance again with his _unnecessarily strong and soft hands_ and now he’s kneeling on the ground with his hands near Lance’s groin, and Lance thinks he might pass out then and there. With delicate fingers, he pulls at the two bowties, making sure they were an even length before placing his hands on his thighs. “And we’re done.”

Lance sighs, happy to be free from the temptation of _Hunk_ , yet sad to be relieved of his balmy touch. “Thanks, Hunk.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hunk says, massaging Lance’s shoulder. He pauses before continuing. “Like, actually don’t mention it. The team would give me _so_ much crap if they found out about this.”

Lance chuckles and leans his head into Hunk, before realizing that _his head is on Hunk’s massive pectoral and that might be just a little bit suggestive_. He quickly moves up, but suddenly there’s a pressure on the back of his skull and his forehead is on Hunk again.

“H-Hunk?”

“I just want to stay here for a bit,” he responds simply. “Is that alright?”

Lance feels his face get incredibly hot, and he hopes that Hunk can’t feel it through his marigold kimono. “Y-Yeah, that’s fine.”

_Fine?!_

_More than fine._

…

_But we can talk about that later._

Lance closes his eyes and breathes out.

_Later. For sure._

* * *

There’s an absolute silence that hangs over the room, one that would perhaps be unachievable in any other setting. Four rows of five people confront each other and sit as statues, their faces hung over the cards and fixed with solemn, stone gazes.

An aged lady clothed in lilac stands alone at a lectern. There’s a card clutched against her chest, and as she raises it towards her face, her lips part, ever so slightly.

_“Ima wa--”_

An eruption occurs, and suddenly cards are in the air.

“Yes!” Lance yells, but Hunk quickly shushes him.

_“--tada, omoi taenan, to bakari wo. Hito-zute nara de, iu yoshi mo gana.”_  
_(Is there any way except by a messenger to send these words to you? If I could, I'd come to you to say goodbye forever.)_

Hunk and Pidge have already won their matches, so their team is up two wins anyway, but _damn it_ , he’s gonna win this match, or he’ll die trying.

_“Me--”_

Thuds resound, and Lance groans. “Don’t worry about it! Take the cards you want to take!” Hunk says over the bustle on the tatami.

_“--guri aite, mishi ya sore to mo, wakanu ma ni. Kumo-gakure ni shi, yowa no tsuki kage.”_  
_(Meeting on the path: But I cannot clearly know if it was he, because the midnight moon in a cloud had disappeared.)_

A stillness returns. And it is just as quickly broken.

_“Hisa--”_

Lance swipes at the card, sending it to the right, past Shiro and past Keith, who both get their cards as well. A collective “Yes!” resounds, and Hunk stiffens as if to shush them, but a smile gets the better of him, and he sits back on his hind legs. 

Shiro bows to his opponent, bringing his entire body to the mat, and his opponent does the same. There’s a faint echo of “ _Arigatou gozaimashita!_ ” and then a louder call of “Voltron, three wins!” as Shiro pumps his fist into the air.

Only Lance and Keith continue to play.

_“kata no, hikari nodokeki, haru no hi ni. Shizu-gokoro naku, hana no chiruran.”_  
_(In the peaceful light of the ever-shining sun. In the days of spring, why do the cherry's new-blown blooms scatter like restless thoughts?)_

Lance’s opponent is small--a grade lower than him, he thinks. There’s a bead of sweat that clings to her right fringe, but Lance knows the moment the reader speaks again, it will fly off somewhere. He hopes it won’t be onto him.

_“Mika no--”_

There’s a drop of moisture that flies onto Lance’s cheek, as his opponent reaches the card before him. At his left, Hunk is giggling into his hand, and Lance has half a mind to flick him on the nose, but he knows that it is undoubtedly the wrong time and the wrong place to do so.

So, he does it anyway.

“Ow, Lance!” Hunk whines, rubbing his nose. “Save that power for the match!”

“I’m not gonna be flicking the cards--”

“Both of you, hush,” Shiro scolds, and they immediately go stiff and silent, listening to the second verse of the poem.

_“Itsu mi kitote ka, koishi karuran.”_  
_(I do not know if we have met: Why, then, do I long for her?)_

Keith is about to win his match--he has one card left, and his opponent has nine. But Lance’s match is still close, as both he and his opponent have five cards. It’s the closest match he’s ever played, in fact, and even though the team has already won, he sure as hell isn’t going to lose now. 

_“Ake--”_

A thumps leads into a muddling of thank you’s, and suddenly Keith yells, “Voltron, four up!”

And now Lance is losing by one card, and all eyes are on his match.

_“--nureba, kururu mono to wa, shiri nagara. Nao urameshiki, asaborake kana.”_  
_(Though I know indeed that the night will come again after day has dawned. Still, in truth, I hate the sight of the morning's coming light.)_

_Just me, huh? I’ll probably screw it up._

Lance grips his hakama and glares at the ground. _Five cards to four cards, five cards to four cards. I can make it up. Easy._ He breathes out.

_“Waga i--”_

The girl grunts and dives for the card which rests on her own side.

She gets it.

_“--o wa, miyako no tatsumi, shika zo sumu. Yo o Ujiyama to, hito wa iu nari.”_  
_(My lowly hut is southeast from the capital. Thus I choose to live. And the world in which I live, men have named a "Mount of Gloom.")_

It’s five to three now, and _sure, it’s a bigger gap than before, but I can still win this!_ But Lance’s hands are shaking, and he’s breathing rapidly, and his eyelids feel heavy even though he got plenty of sleep last night.

_But I’m okay. I’ve got this._

The reader lifts the card to her eyes.

_“Michi--”_

Lance attacks a card on his side, but he soon realizes that he’s the only one that went for it.

_A dead card?!_

His opponent silently raises her hand, signaling the reader to wait until she has passed Lance a card.

_Two to five._

_I’ve lost._

Lance hangs his head and lets his wide eyes gaze at nothing--only ridges on the worn tatami below him. There’s certain surreality that he can’t quite get a grasp on; that he could come so close to winning his first match, only to trip over his own toes at the finish line. He reaches to group the cards he has left so that he can swing at them without regard for which of the five he’s hitting, but he hesitates.

_Why should I even try?_

But a warmth floats onto his shoulder and then into his ear. “Win or lose, you’re a part of this team,” Hunk whispers, his hand soft on Lance’s shoulder. “But… I don’t want you to play karuta to win.”

Lance looks up at Hunk with weary eyes and is surprised to see the barest hint of a smile.

“Karuta is full of colors!”

There’s a brief moment where Lance sits with his jaw agape, air flowing neither in nor out of his mouth. But then his lips curl upward too. He turns back to the cards, and they’re painted blue.

The reader exhales.

_“Su--”_

The faint blue of the waters of Sumiyoshi Bay shoots towards the wall, and suddenly Lance is on his feet, going to retrieve his card. He doesn’t even register the look of shock on his opponent’s face.

_Karuta is full of colors!_

_“--mi no e no, kishi ni yoru nami, yoru sae ya. Yume no kayoi ji, hito me yoku ran.”_  
_(The waves are gathered on the shore of Sumi Bay, and in the gathered night, when in dreams I go to you, I hide from people's eyes.)_

The count is two to four now, but Lance isn’t keeping track.

His eyes look over the field of azure; his own favorite card sits on his side, watching, waiting for Lance to reclaim what’s his.

_“Kimi--”_

_There’s only one of those left!_

Lance lunges.

_“--ga tame, haru no no ni idete, wakana tsumu. Waga koromode ni, yuki wa furi tsutsu.”_  
_(It is for your sake that I walk the fields in spring, gathering green herbs, while my garment's hanging sleeves are speckled with falling snow.)_

Lance raises his hand into the air and, without looking, passes his card.

_I don’t want to leave this painted mat!_

_“Ka--”_

His opponent swings, but for what, Lance isn’t sure. After all, the color of the reader’s words isn’t the same as any of the cards on the field at the moment.

_“--ze soyogu, Nara no ogawa no, yugure wa. Misogi zo natsu no, shirushi nari keru.”_  
_(To Nara's brook comes evening, and the rustling winds stir the oak-trees' leaves. Not a sign of summer left but the sacred bathing there.)_

Realizing her mistake, Lance’s opponent lets out a groan that coincides with the raising of Lance’s hand. It’s three to two now, and Lance is ahead. 

For a brief moment, there is a silence. No other matches are still in progress, and the eyes of players and viewers alike are tracking the movement of just two arms. Lance passes a one syllable card--that way, his opponent can’t swipe at the all of her cards at once if the card being read is more than one syllable.

He’s actually proud of himself for thinking of that.

With his hand back down and the opponent’s cards reorganized, both players lean forward.

_“Na--”_

Lance swipes the card backwards from his side, away from the girl and nearly into another person’s head. But he gets it, and now he’s one card away from winning.

_“--niwae no, ashi no karine no, hitoyo yue. Mi o tsukushite ya, koi wataru beki.”_  
_(After one brief night--short as a piece of the reeds growing in Naniwa bay. Must I forever long for him with my whole heart, till life ends?_

When he goes to retrieve his card, Lance grins at the distinct lapis waves of Naniwa Bay smiling back at him.

He thinks Hunk might be smiling at him too.

There are three cards left on the girl’s side, two of which were from Lance. And one of which he knows he can take for sure. And if he can take that one…

Lance knows he can. He knows he will. All he has to do is wait for it to be read.

The reader lifts the card and parts her lips.

Her voice is blue like the ocean.

When Lance reaches the card, he only moves it slightly. There’s a certain beauty in taking a card with delicacy over brute speed, and he thinks it’s achieved only through colors.

His opponent doesn’t wait for him to pass her a card. “ _Arigatou gozaimashita_ ,” she says, bowing her head.

“ _A-Arigatou gozaimashita_ ,” Lance echoes, a stutter in his words.

They both bow to the reader as well, who’s smiling as she finishes the second verse of Lance’s favorite poem.

Hunk nudges Lance. “Well?”

He grins in reply. “V-Voltron, five wins!” And with that exclamation, Lance drops his head onto Hunk’s shoulder. It’s soft. Staring at the cardless tatami now, it’s without the blue of the ocean. But somehow it still seems colorful.

Hunk turns his head and kisses Lance through his hair. “Didn’t I tell you karuta is great?”

Lance breathes in Hunk’s scent through his kimono and sighs. “Sure, but just let me take a nap on your shoulder. Feel free to kiss me more.”

There’s a chuckle, and then Lance actually feels Hunk kiss him once again, his lips lingering a little longer than before.

Karuta is full of colors. For Lance, there’s waves of cerulean and cobalt.

But he also doesn’t mind yellow.


	2. But there I hear the stag's cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheith makes its appearance. Hope y'all enjoy! Thanks for the beta, akishime~

_

Shiro

_

There is a certain delicacy that adheres to semi-finals, one that exists in all manners of sports and competition--an inert limbo that hangs over all in attendance. To achieve so much, yet still miss out on the possibility of the greatest achievement is far more painful than to not have come close at all.

_In this dire distress, my life is meaningless. So we must meet now, even though it costs my life in the Bay of Naniwa._

Shiro thinks it sums up the situation perfectly, although he doesn’t have the time to ponder it in the heat of the match.

“Voltron, two wins!” Pidge yells, adding to Hunk’s success. He wants to congratulate her, to tell her ‘good job’ and assure her ‘I’ll win my match soon too.’”

But he doesn’t have the time.

_“Michi--”_

The card is there, and his hand is getting there, but his hand and the poem don’t connect. Because his opponent’s hand is almost there, and he doesn’t have the time.

It flies away from him.

_“--noku no, shinobu moji-zuri, tare yue ni. Midare some ni shi, ware naranaku ni.”_   
_(Like Michinoku prints of the tangled leaves of ferns, it is because of you that I have become confused; But my love for you remains.)_

Shiro groans. It’s one thing to lose a card, but to have lost the race to the card for the past _five cards_ is another.

He waits for someone to call out to him, to cheer him on, tell him that ‘it’s alright, you can make it up!’

_But I’m the captain. That’s supposed to be my job! Who can rely on me if I have to rely on someone else?_

He pushes down on the tatami, bowing to his opponent. “ _Sumimasen._ ” Shiro stands up and stares down at the mat, trying to find patterns in his opponent’s card arrangement. _What am I missing? Why does he keep beating me to cards?_

Normally, cards in a karuta match end up in one of four corners--the left and right sides of either player. _But his are in one big line!_

_What’s the advantage? He’ll still be slower than me if he swipes at the entire block. And even with his weird arrangement, I still have the locations of the poems memorized. If it’s not my reaction speed… then it has to be his physical speed?_

Shiro sits back down and plants his hands on the mat, behind the line of play.

_“Moro--”_

_There!_

Shiro reaches for the card, sure that he’s moving first this time. But the time his hand reaches his opponent’s side of the field, the card is gone. His fingers grasp at a tangible void--his mind hasn’t told them that all that’s left is air and tatami.

For some reason, there’s not a sufficient amount of time that would allow him to reach the other side of the mat before his opponent does. Even if he moves first. Even if his fingers are fleet and flexible.

When his opponent returns after retrieving his card, he sits back down, his arms pressed delicately onto the mat. Shiro looks up to observe his opponent--his positioning, his movements. He expects to see a boy staring down at the mat with his hair hugging the side of his face. But instead he’s met with a stare. 

The reader finishes the second verse, his song echoing in Shiro’s ears. Shiro expects his opponent to look back down at the tatami.

He doesn’t. Shiro doesn’t either.

_“Ai mite--”_

_Guess I’m getting this card then!_ Shiro thinks as he whips his head and his hand, staring at the location of the card he _definitely_ had memorized.

But when he gets there, it’s gone.

_“--no, nochi no kokoro ni, kurabureba. Mukashi wa mono o, omowazari keri.”_   
_(I have met my love. When I compare this present with feelings of the past, my passion is now as if I have never loved before.)_

Shiro is left with his mouth open, and the air that rushes in sears his already dry throat. “How…” he manages to croak. _He didn’t even look down until after I did._

There’s no evidence of smugness when his opponent comes back at looks down at the one card he has left compared to the nine that Shiro has, but there is a knowing glance. He only mutters two cryptic words: “Your eyes.” Shiro can’t decide if it’s advice or something else.

Even if he could, he doesn’t have the time to figure it out.

He’s about to look down at the mat again, before he notices that his enigmatic opponent is still staring at him.

_Focus!_

Shiro shakes his head and peers down at the field.

_“Oto--”_

His fingers finally touch script, and the card goes flying to the right. 

“Nice, Shiro!” Hunk interrupts as Shiro runs to his card, breaking the silence dangling over their team.

His compliment is appreciated, but not warranted, Shiro decides. After all, his opponent was very near the card before Shiro swiped it away. He likely wouldn’t have gotten it had the card been on the opposite side of the field.

When Shiro sits back down, he asks his opponent a question. “What about my eyes?” he says, not bothering to show them to him.

“They tell me where to go.”

_They tell him where to go…? But what could--_

_No way…_

_When he stares at me, he’s watching… my eyes? And reacting solely based off that? So he is just really fast… And that must be why his cards in a straight line! It’s easier for him to find out where my eyes are looking._

Shiro looks up and stares back at the boy in front of him.

When words start to leave the reader’s mouth, Shiro doesn’t move his head.

_“Arazaran, kono yo no hoka no, omoide ni.”_

Finally, his opponent down at the mat to find out where the card is, and Shiro makes his move, lashing out at the card that sits directly in front of his left leg, and his opponent doesn’t even attempt to reach for it.

_Who the hell is this kid…?_

He goes to fetch his card, pausing after he picks it up.

_So if I just wait until he looks down first, I can get there first!_

As the reader finishes the second verse, there’s a newfound determination that Shiro feels in his chest; it swells upward, soothing his dry, dry throat. As he sits on his calves, he looks up, only to find that his opponent is already staring at the mat.

“If you think I’m helpless without my opponent’s eyes, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Shiro knows the reader has started the poem, but for some reason, he’s met with silence as the boy in front of him whips his hand toward a card on Shiro’s side of the field.

He doesn’t pass a card, instead opting to just bow and thank Shiro. _“Arigatou gozaimashita.”_

_“A-Arigatou gozaimashita,”_ Shiro stutters, bowing his body with trembling elbows. Suddenly he locks them, and he refuses to bring his head up. He stares longingly at the remaining poems and chooses to ignore the moisture accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

_My damn eyes._

The reader continues with his call and response song, unaware of Shiro.

_“Yo no naka yo, michi koso nakere, omoi iru. Yama no oku ni mo, shika zo naku naru.”_   
_(From this world I think that there is nowhere to escape. I wanted to hide in the mountains' farthest depths; But there I hear the stag's cry.)_

Thumps echo, and groans follow, but Shiro continues to stare at the ground.

_I wish I were blind!_

To his right, Keith is still playing his match, but he’s the only one left, and his match is way too close for comfort.

_I might’ve just lost our team the match._

Shiro wants to squeeze his eyes shut tight, but his eyes are fogged with tears and he can’t bring himself to blink them away. At least, looking at the ground, no one can see him cry.

* * *

_“Arigatou gozaimashita!”_

“Voltron, three wins!”

The team sighs in relief, but Shiro feels his chest fill with shame--tight, constricting. He doesn’t think he could let it go if he wanted to.

Hunk wraps his arms around Lance, lifting him up off the ground, despite yelps of protest. “We made it to the finals!”

Pidge pushes her glasses up in that stereotypical, expected way, and Keith gives a nearly as cliche nod. But Shiro is still looking at the ground.

_I almost cost us the tournament. Because I couldn’t figure out my opponent. Because I was weak._

And he hasn’t looked up yet, but he can feel everyone else’s eyes burning into him, their eyes bringing a new wave of shame and guilt and reminding him of the victory he never had.

“Shiro?” Keith whispers, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Shiro stands up, brushing Keith’s hand off. “I have to go,” he declares just a little too loudly, nearly running as he turns to leave.

No one objects as Shiro leaves the room. It is silent and there are no words spoken, but the hot tears streaming down his face speak volumes. He thinks he might hear a soft ‘Wait, Shiro!’ from Keith, but it’s meaningless. 

Omi Jingu is a large place, and anyone could easily get lost in the complex if they didn’t have a path already planned out. So, Shiro walks away without a map and without a plan. 

He walks past the magnificent, red torii of the Romon gate. He walks past prayer halls where people congregate, past buildings that house priceless Showa Era artifacts. He walks past the luminous waters of Lake Biwa, where cherry blossoms leave splashes of pink on the golden blue.

Eventually, he ends up near the old _roukoku._ The water clock is the oldest in Japan, but despite its history, it receives few visitors, even during the warm season.

There’s a rivulet by the shrine that babbles and burbles over smoothed dolostone. Petals dance on its murmuring surface, leaving coral specks in the sun-dappled stream. The trickles of water trace erratic swirls over the path, eventually pooling near a group of tall, jade ferns.

To his side, there’s a small _shishi-odoshi_ that clacks rhythmically against the stone; its bamboo shell filled with water until the inevitable gravity shift brings the water to fall into the stream below. The _kapo-n_ of the bamboo was meant to scare away deer, but instead it contributes to the ambience.

_Deer…_

_“From this world I think that there is nowhere to escape. I wanted to hide in the mountains' farthest depths; But there I hear the stag's cry.”_

Shiro wonders if he’ll ever forget.

He doesn’t think it’s possible. Unfortunately, he has all the time in the world to remember.

The _shishi-odoshi_ clatters again, its water spilling onto the rock again and again, in a loop that will never break; and then, Shiro is crying, his tears forming a pool of their own. 

Somehow, the dark spots they leave on the ground below aren’t as beautiful.

There’s an odd rhythm that they achieve--the stream, the bamboo, and Shiro. For every trickle of water, there’s a click of wood. For every click of wood, there’s a teardrop. And for every teardrop, Shiro feels his guilt grow and grow, until the tears become too much and he collapses to the ground.

_Hunk and Pidge win every time. If Keith hadn’t won the last match, we’d be out of the tournament. Heck, if Lance weren’t here, we’d be out of the tournament! Am I the only one that’s unable to contribute?!_

_I almost forfeited everyone else’s hard work…_

_All because of my damn eyes!_

He nearly claws at them, reddening them past what just tears can do.

Bamboo strikes stone.

For all he knows, the rest of the them aren’t even looking for him. _And why should they?_ His hands are trembling, and he’s still on his knees, even though his hakama is probably stained with tears and streamwater. 

Then, the rhythm is disrupted. Shiro can’t put his finger on what it is, but a sound has invaded the cycle of trickle and clack and cry.

It comes again.

Shiro thinks it’s a voice.

It’s aching.

It comes again, muffled, but he thinks it’s a name.

“Shiro!”

_… Keith?_

“Shiro, where are you?!” His voice is loud and panicked. His words pierce the air, and his message sends ripples through the pool of water.

Shiro figures he should respond. Let him know where he is, that he’s safe.

He doesn’t.

Keith continues. “Shiro! Are you out here?”

_Go away, Keith._

There’s a rustling of ferns, and suddenly Keith is there, nearly barreling into Shiro. “Shiro, where have you been?! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

_We?_

Shiro hides his face. He doesn’t want Keith to see him cry. “Well, you found me.”

Keith stiffens. He’s in his kimono and hakama as well, though his are a striking crimson. “Shiro, if it’s about the last match--”

“Of course it’s about the match!” Shiro yells, though his words echo dimly off the dirt. 

Keith doesn’t respond. Not with words, at least.

He places a tentative hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and while Shiro doesn’t brush it away, he doesn’t respond to it either. “So, you lost a match. Since when have you let that kind of thing bother you?”

Shiro feels his fist tighten even more, and his fingernails threaten to tear gashes in his palms. “It’s not losing that bothers me,” he says through his clenched teeth. “It’s losing when it matters to everyone else!”

He feels Keith’s fingers contract around his shoulder. “Shiro…”

“If you hadn’t won that last match, we wouldn’t be moving on to the finals! We would’ve been done! Finished! Even though Hunk _never_ loses and Pidge can memorize the _entire_ field, we would’ve been stopped in our tracks, right then and there!” Shiro stops to breathe. “Because of my stupid, revealing eyes.”

The silence that follows is interrupted only by the clack of the wood and the murmuring of the stream.

Shiro feels Keith’s hand leave his shoulder, and feels an unnatural chill take its place. He hears Keith’s _geta_ clopping against the stone below as he walks around and finds his place, sitting instead directly in front of Shiro. Sighing, Keith cups Shiro’s face, lifting his head to meet his eyes.

“Do you really have _that_ little faith in me?” he says with a dry chuckle. 

Shiro’s eyes widen.

Keith laughs louder now, looking away so he doesn’t do it right in Shiro’s face. “I mean, I may be B-Rank, but that doesn’t mean I’m as incompetent as Lance.” He takes a moment to wipe one the gleaming tears from Shiro’s cheek. “And even if I had lost too, you wouldn’t be the one to blame. If we were to blame _anyone_ , it would be the both of us, and even then, sometimes you just can’t help losing a match.”

“Yeah, but the _semifinals_ , Keith?” Shiro cuts in, turning back toward the ground. “I don’t want the team to lose because of me.”

Keith grabs his chin again, but this time yanks his head up with a bit more force. “ _Especially_ the semifinals, Shiro. Sure, if we had lost, we’d all be sad for a little bit. But you know what we’d do after that?” 

The _shishi-odoshi_ sounds.

“We’d get stronger,” he finishes, brushing away Shiro’s white forelock to get a look into his eyes. “We’d come back from that loss, renewed from the ashes!” Keith sits back and smiles. “After all, you can’t keep Voltron down forever.”

There’s a smile that tugs at the corners of Shiro’s lips, but he doesn’t give in, doesn’t let it show.

“And what was that about your eyes?” Keith mutters, grabbing onto both of Shiro’s hands.

Shiro coughs and tries to look away once more, but Keith stops him. He sighs. “M-My eyes are the reason that I lost,” Shiro stammers. “My opponent was able to track where I was going and then beat me to the cards. Even after he hinted at it, and I finally figured it out, I was powerless to stop him.”

“Mm,” Keith hums, rubbing his thumbs on the backs of Shiro’s hands. “But you might never play him again. We beat their team, so _we’re_ the ones moving on.”

Keith pauses.

“And… for the record, I love your eyes.”

Shiro immediately feels an intense heat in his face, as rosy hues dot his cheekbones. “K-Keith…”

But Keith stops him with a delicately placed finger on his lips. “Dark gray, and kind. I don’t think you’ve ever given someone a malicious glance. Those are the eyes of a guy I love.”

“Even if they cause us to lose?”

“ _Especially_ if they cause us to lose. Why should a bunch of cards hold your gaze when I’m here?” he says, simpering at Shiro.

“Keith,” Shiro groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Shiro,” Keith says with a bit more assertiveness. “We win as a team, we lose as a team.” Suddenly, he leans forward, placing his forehead against Shiro’s. “But even more than that, we’re partners. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

Shiro closes his eyes and hums. “Even if we lose because of me?”

Keith laughs and closes his eyes as well. “ _Especially_ if we lose because of you.”

Keith brings his lips towards Shiro’s, and Shiro meets him halfway there. The kiss is soft, and warm, and everything Shiro needed right then, even with the tears streaming down his face. 

“Keep in mind, if we lose early on in a tournament, I can kiss you even longer,” Keith says in between kisses.

“I’m not gonna lose on purpose, Keith,” Shiro teases.

Keith shrugs, and brings his hands to Shiro’s face, deepening the kiss. “It was worth a try.”

They only pull away after the clicks of the bamboo have long faded into the background and Shiro has forgotten the feeling of cool wet on his cheeks.

* * *

“Where were you, Shiro?!” Hunk says with a panic in his eyes.

Lance doesn’t seem quite as panicked, but he still looks irked, judging from the tap of his foot and the turn of his nose. “We couldn’t have kept going without you!”

Pidge shrugs. “A team’s not a team without its captain.”

Keith nudges Shiro, putting his head on his shoulder. “See? I told you that they all cared.”

Shiro breathes slowly, smiling to himself. “I just went for a walk. Sorry for worrying you all.”

“A walk?” Keith snorts, smiling from his spot on Shiro. “You went on a fucking _expedition_ \--”

“ _Language_ , Keith!” Hunk scolds, biting his nails. “Your bad words reflect poorly on the entire team!”

There’s a peace that returns to Shiro somehow when he’s surrounded by these people; people that he loves, and people that love him.

Shiro runs a hand through Keith’s wavy, black hair. “Looks like I’m not the only in trouble now, babe.”

“Oh, you have no place to talk you little piece of--”

“ _Language!_ ” Hunk says, looking as though he’s about to cry.

Suddenly, they’re all laughing, Hunk with crinkled eyes, Lance doubled over, Pidge trying her hardest to hide her amusement, and Keith, with Shiro. 

And Shiro can’t help but think, _yeah, this is where I want to be._

Keith claps his hand against Shiro’s back. “Well, captain, you gonna pump us up for the finals or what?”

“I don’t know how much of a ‘pump up’ it will be, but I guess I can say something,” Shiro starts, rubbing the back of his neck. He sighs. “Let me just start out by saying I wouldn’t be here without the rest of you. And for that, I just have to say thank you.”

“Naturally,” Pidge says, smiling.

“You may be our captain, but even our captain has to be taken care of sometimes, right?” Hunk coos, pulling Lance to his side.

Shiro blushes a little, but he bows his head in gratitude anyway. “I reacted poorly to my last loss, but only because I was afraid I would lose you guys. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Jeez, could we quit it with all this emotional stuff?” Pidge interrupts, picking at her ear. “We obviously weren’t gonna quit if you had lost. We’re not six years old.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows, before chuckling. “Of course you aren’t; I didn’t mean to imply that. I just--”

“Look, I think Pidge meant this speech needs less _Thelma and Louise_ and more _Rocky_ ,” Lance hints as he holds Hunk’s hand.

“Thelma and Louise…?” Shiro mumbles.

Keith plants a chaste kiss on his cheek. “They kiss and then drive off a cliff to avoid the police.”

“O-Oh,” Shiro stammers, his ears turning pink.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Pidge says, a bit annoyed. “We’re glad you’re back, Shiro. Even if it does mean I have to put up with _two_ gross couples now.”

Hunk moves to envelop Pidge in a bear hug, and everyone laughs once again.

“What happened to me giving a pump up speech?” Shiro jokes as he starts to massage Keith’s shoulders.

“Ah, you know you’ve never been that great at those, Shiro,” Keith breathes, closing his eyes.

“Hey!”

“It’s fine, listening to you still makes us happy,” Keith adds with a chuckle.

The Omi Jingu Learning Center doesn’t seem so small anymore, and despite being in a hot, cramped room while wearing an already sweaty kimono, Shiro smiles. 

“ _Though a swift stream is divided by a boulder in its headlong flow, though divided, on it rushes, and at last unites again._ ” Shiro recites, closing his eyes.

“It’s talking about us,” Hunk hums, finally setting Pidge down.

“I’d hardly say that we’re a _stream,_ ” Lance comments. He smooths out his hakama and continues. “More like raging rapids! We can’t be stopped!”

Keith scoffs, but he doesn’t disagree with him. He ends up smiling. 

“I guess I was that boulder, huh?” Shiro notes, scratching the top of his head. “Sorry about that.”

“Ugh, quit apologizing!” Pidge yells. “You didn’t do anything wrong! And even if you did, we’d forgive you just as soon as you did the wrong!”

Shiro feels his eyes go big, and he’s about to make a retort, but decides against it in favor of another approach. “Thank you, Pidge. I promise I won’t let you guys down.”

Hunk giggles and replies in poem: “ _As dew promises new life to the thirsty plant, so did your vow to me._ ”

“Would you guys stop speaking in poem?!” Lance complains, pulling down on Hunk’s arm.

Shiro grins. “If that’s all the complaints there are, I’d say we’re due a cheer.”

Hunk smiles, and he pulls Lance and Pidge by the hand toward Keith and Shiro. He then wraps his arms around their shoulders, forming a circle between themselves, no beginning, and no end.

“Voltron, fight!” Shiro yells with a wicked grin gracing his face.

“Yeah!”

It helps that they end up winning the finals.


	3. As tangled as my black hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm telling ya, the poems in competitive karuta were MADE for these kiddos. I mean, _obviously_ who else could have tangled black hair but Keith? Thank you sooo much for beta'ing akishime, and I hope y'all enjoy!

_

Keith

_

He tried.

No one was going to protest that. No one was going to say that he didn’t try. Because he did. But more often than not, it ended up not being enough. 

Keith played in tournament after tournament, trying. Trying to impress his teammates. Trying to impress his parents. Trying to impress himself.

Trying to win.

Keith had become quite good at trying. He almost won the last two tournaments he competed in. But still, he lost. In the final match of the day, no less. He had to wonder if anything was worth trying for after all. 

But Keith was never really alone. For some reason, one boy--one _idiot_ \--stuck with him through it all.

For some reason, Shiro supported him, practiced with him, and loved him. Practicing karuta, putting on the hakama, and brushing his hair after a long day’s work, Shiro was there for him.

Shiro, who whispered encouragements into his ear before a match, who sat silently at the sidelines, smiling. Shiro, who didn’t bother making plans on Saturdays, because Saturdays were for Keith, whether there was a tournament or not.

Keith tried.

But Shiro tried too. 

And Keith wasn’t sure when trying to win for his team, and his parents, and himself turned into trying to win for Shiro.

* * *

“But why do _I_ have to be here?!” Lance whines, his fingers interlaced between Hunk’s. “It’s not like I’m playing in the tournament!”

Hunk squeezes his hand. “You’ll be here for Pidge and I tomorrow, won’t you?”

Lance squirms, trying to quell the rising heat in his neck. “Yeah, but that’s different! You and I are d-dating!”

“You’re not dating Pidge, too, are you?” Hunk asks. He’s clearly unfazed by the stutter in Lance’s speech.

“N-No!”

Shiro smiles. “Then it’s settled; you’re going to support Keith as well!” 

Keith is grateful for the support Shiro gives him, and for the fact that he’s able to unite the team so easily and so, so well. But sometimes, he wants the chance to grow on his own.

“Trust me, Lance,” Keith starts, looking away, “I don’t want you to be here just as much as you don’t want you to be here.”

“Thank you!” Lance nearly yells, before blinking in sudden realization. “Wait--”

Shiro then claps his hands and Pidge gives a little jump. “Come on, let’s give Keith some room to breathe, alright? Now, all of you, shoo!”

Hunk gives a little salute before turning to Pidge and Lance. “You heard the man! Get! Get!” he says, shoving them along and quite possibly slapping Lance’s ass in the process. There’s a little yelp and Keith shudders in confirmation.

When they’ve finally left the room, Keith shakes his head. “They’re so disgustingly domestic.”

Shiro hums, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder. “You don’t like domesticity?”

“No,” Keith lies, cursing the blushing heat radiating off his skin.

Shiro chuckles and takes Keith’s hand. “Can I at least help you get ready?”

“Of course,” Keith scoffs. _He always helps. It’s what he does. It would be weird if he_ didn’t _offer to tie my hakama._

“Hey, no need to get testy with me! I just want you to look nice,” Shiro chides with a grin. “Stand here,” he directs, pointing to where the wooden floor is knotted and ribbed with age.

Keith grumbles, but he does as he’s told. 

“Alright, I’m behind you with the hakama.”

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re about to do,” Keith scolds. _I’m not a kid being fed with airplanes and choo-choo trains._

Shiro laughs. “That’s fine.”

There’s little warning as he gets up and kisses the side of Keith’s neck.

“ _Oh my god, Shiro,_ ” Keith groans, his face turning as scarlet as his kimono. “I was talking about the hakama, not about--well, everything you do!”

“Then you should have said that,” Shiro teases, wrapping the burgundy straps of Keith’s hakama around the kimono. “If you tell someone to build a bridge and nothing else, what are the chances they’ll make the exact bridge that you want built?”

“Since when did you become a civil engineer?” Keith huffs.

“Just because I mentioned bridges, suddenly I’m an engineer?” Shiro counters, hiding a smirk. “I talk about you a lot too, so I guess that means I’m a _Keith_ -gineer.”

Keith snorts and crosses his arms. “That’s _not_ a thing.”

“It’s not?” Shiro says innocently, his eyes wide. “Then how come I know what this does?”

Shiro runs a finger, featherlight across Keith’s side, just under his ribs. Keith jerks away, clutching at his side and giving Shiro a death stare. “That’s _off-limits_.”

“I’m afraid it’s part of the job--”

“You’re not a _Keith_ -gineer!”

Shiro laughs--a golden, redolent laugh. “Fine, I’m not a _Keith_ -gineer. Now get back over here so I can tie your hakama.”

Keith begrudgingly heeds his directions, finding his way back to the knobbed ring of wood. “No more tickling.”

Shiro holds his hands up in defense of himself. “I would _never_.”

_Sure, sure. I totally believe you._

“I’m about to tie the under-hakama knot,” Shiro notes.

Keith almost makes a smart-aleck comment about his dictation, but he decides against it, knowing what’s in Shiro’s arsenal. Instead, he settles for, “Okay.”

“So, are you ready?” Shiro asks, working the red straps with his nimble fingers.

“Ready?”

Shiro clears his throat. “For the tournament.”

“Oh.”

Keith isn’t very fond of that question. Is he ready? Well, he won’t know which poems they’re using until the cards are dealt. In that sense, he isn’t ready in the slightest. Is he _mentally_ ready for the tournament?

Either way, his answer is no.

“Sure,” Keith responds, paltering _sure_ with _absolutely not._

“That doesn’t sound very confident,” Shiro says with a twitch of his nose.

“Confidence and readiness don’t always go hand in hand, do they?”

Shiro pauses. “I suppose, but it sounds like you don’t have either.”

Keith stops moving, stops breathing. _Well that was blunt._

“Really hit the nail on the head there, didn’t I?” Shiro jokes, complimenting himself. “I really have to add all these previous occupations to my resume; civil engineer, _Keith_ -gineer, _handyman_ \--”

“Shiro.”

Shiro clears his throat. “Sorry. That was mean.” He finishes tying the knot and stands up, kissing Keith on the cheek. “But really! You have no reason to be worried.”

“Funny. I think that’s what the unlicensed civil engineer said just before building his bridge out of straw.”

“Keith…” Shiro starts, rubbing his shoulders. “Yeah, I don’t know how to build bridges. But you,” he continues, wrapping his arms around Keith’s torso, “you _know_ how to play karuta. We play together almost every day.”

“And somehow I keep losing every B-Rank tournament I go to. Maybe it’s a sign,” Keith says with a dry chuckle.

“Keith--”

“Don’t _Keith_ me!” he retorts, shrugging off Shiro’s embrace. “I’m tired of it! I’m tired of losing!”

Keith is no longer on the knot of the wooden floor; he’s pacing, stomping across the paneled floor. It creaks with each step, groaning with each clop of Keith’s _geta_. “If participating in all of these tournaments means losing at the finish line, then I want no part in them!”

“But you won’t lose today,” Shiro cuts in.

“Oh yeah? And why is that, _Keith_ -gineer,” Keith growls. He doesn’t mean to be so crude. He loves Shiro. But he can’t help how the words leave his mouth, spitting from his tongue, getting as far away from Keith as they can.

Shiro grabs a stool and walks back toward Keith, pacing interrupted. “Because today you’re gonna win for me,” he says frankly, placing the stool on the ground. He points to it. “Sit.”

Keith is shocked by his sudden forthrightness, but he’s in no position to argue. No one can change Shiro’s mind when he’s this determined.

_But determined to do what?_

Keith hears Shiro walk away, but he doesn’t turn to see what for. He returns quickly, and suddenly there’s a brush in Keith’s hair.

“S-Shiro?” Keith stammers.

“Stay still,” he instructs, and Keith does as he’s told. “Winners should look their best for whatever tournament they’re in, shouldn’t they?”

Keith gulps. “But you don’t know that I’ll--”

“Don’t I?” Shiro interrupts, voice soft. 

He continues to run the plastic bristles through his hair as Keith formulates his response. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll succeed,” Shiro corrects, and Keith gulps again.

His words are firm, but they aren’t threatening. Shiro genuinely wants Keith to win. He sees it in the caress of his hair, each stroke kind, thoughtful, and gentle; just like Shiro. And each one takes another knot out of Keith’s wild, unruly hair.

“I know you’ll succeed,” Shiro continues. “But even if you didn’t, I know you’d try again. You’re as restless as your hair, after all,” he says with a laugh. 

“Shiro--”

“Sorry, was that joke too much?” he continue seamlessly, paying no mind to Keith. “I guess I take the teasing a bit too far sometimes. Your hair really is tangled, though.”

“Shiro--”

“Just let me know when that happens, alright? I’ll be sure to--”

“Shiro!” Keith snaps, getting up from the chair. Meanwhile, Shiro stands frozen, his hands still brushing at air. “Could you listen to me for one second?!”

Shiro looks blankly at Keith. “I’m all ears.”

Keith groans and hits the wall. “Yeah, that’s all you ever say! All you do is pretend to listen to me, and tell me it’s going to be okay. Well, sometimes it’s not!”

“Of course it won’t always be okay--”

“Then don’t tell me it will be!” Keith yells, his eyes damp. “I’m sick of being told silly lies meant for kids. I’m not one! I know what the world is! I know how cruel it is!”

“Keith--”

“I told you not to _Keith_ me!” he shouts with clenched fists. Keith turns and walks to the door, opening the sliding panel with more force than necessary. 

Just as he’s halfway through the doorway, he stops. 

“Don’t watch my matches.”

He slams the door closed on Shiro’s stock-still frame.

* * *

He hears them whispering during his match.

“Where did Shiro go?”

“How should I know?”

_“Haru--”_

_Shit! I can’t let myself get distracted now. Not when I only have to win two more matches._

_“--sugite, natsu ki ni kerashi, shirotae no. Koromo hosu cho, ama no Kaguyama.”_  
_(The spring has passed and the summer come again; For the silk-white robes, so they say, are spread to dry on the "Mount of Heaven's Perfume.")_

He’s winning by a decent margin, so he really has no reason to worry, so long as he stays focused. 

Although, that could be tricky.

_“Wata--”_

_There!_

He flies towards the mat and swipes a swath of cards away along with the one poem being read. 

_“--no hara, yasoshima kakete, kogi idenu to. Hito ni wa tsugeyo, ama no tsuri bune.”_  
_(Over the wide sea towards its many distant isles, my ship sets sail. Will the fishing boats thronged here proclaim my journey to the world?)_

“Does Keith know that Shiro’s gone?” Lance whispers, quite loudly.

_Yes, Lance. I know._

_I was the one that told him not to be here._

_“Tachi--”_

His opponent gets this card first.

_Fuck! Get out of my head, Shiro!_

_“--wakare, Inaba no yama no, mine ni oru. Matsu to shi kikaba, ima kaeri kon.”_  
_(Though we are parted, if on Mount Inaba's peak, I should hear the sound of the pine trees growing there, I'll come back again to you.)_

The reader is obviously unfazed by Keith’s current predicament, her face stalwart as she reads card after card. Her kimono is adorned with pink orchids, complementing the muted purples dotting the fabric.

She’s here to read beautiful poetry.

Nothing more, nothing less.

_“Hana no--”_

He loses the card again.

_Damn it, where are my one-syllables?!_

He doesn’t get a response from the reader.

_“--iro wa, utsuri ni keri na, itazura ni. Waga mi yo ni furu, nagame seshi ma ni.”_  
_(Color of the flower has already faded away, while in idle thoughts my life passes vainly by, as I watch the long rains fall.)_

“He’s missing a lot of them…” Lance mutters.

This time, Keith whips his head at them, giving Lance his harshest glare yet. Lance sticks his tongue out. Keith thinks he sees him mouth, ‘Stop sucking!’

_It’s not my fault_ , he wants to shout at him.

_It’s fucking Shiro’s fault._

_“Se--”_

_Finally, a one-syllable card!_

But when Keith finishes knocking the card away, he realizes that it’s a one-syllable card that wasn’t in the field.

_“--o hayami, iwa ni sekaruru, takigawa no. Warete mo sue ni, awan to zo omou.”_  
_(Though a swift stream is divided by a boulder in its headlong flow; Though divided, on it rushes, and at last unites again.)_

_Damn Shiro for getting that poem stuck in my head. Why does he have to be so intrusive?!_

Keith takes a long breath, letting it out slowly as he re-examines the cards on the tatami.

He has two cards left to get on his side: a one-syllable and a two-syllable. His opponent has twelve left. There isn’t much of a competition, but the last time Keith ended a match headstrong, he nearly lost it all.

_“Ogu--”_

Keith takes it with ease--the card flies from his right leg to the far wall, and he races after it.

_One to go._

_“--rayama, mine no momijiba, kokoro araba. Ima hitotabi no, miyuki matanan.”_  
_(If the maple leaves on Ogura mountain could only have hearts. They would longingly await the emperor's pilgrimage.)_

His opponent seems distressed, but there’s no reason he shouldn’t be. He’s about to lose, after all.

“Don’t give up, Reo!” someone, a middle-aged lady, yells out from the audience.

“Please, refrain from talking during the matches ma’am, or you’ll be forced to leave.”

_At least he has someone to watch him play. Shiro left me._

_Well, I guess I told him to stay away. But he drove me to it!_

_“Yae--”_

There’s a rush of cards as his opponent sends a sizeable chunk of cards out of play. But it gets him the card, so Keith is in no place to critique his style of play.

_“--mugura, shigereru yado no, sabishiki ni. Hito koso miene, aki wa ki ni keri.”_  
_(To the dim cottage, overgrown with thick-leaved vines, in its loneliness comes the dreary autumn time: But there, no people come.)_

_I can win without Shiro. And this kid can win without his mom. That’s just how the world works._

Keith’s nose twitches, and he’s not sure he believes himself. But he thinks it anyway.

_“Na--”_

It’s the one-syllable card on Keith’s side of the field.

_“--gakaran, kokoro mo shirazu, kurokami no. Midarete kesa wa, mono o koso omoe.”_  
_(Is it forever that he hopes our love will last? He did not answer. And now my daylight thoughts are as tangled as my black hair.)_

Something snaps in Keith, and he barely registers the thank you that his opponent gives him before he bows back and says the same.

He should get his card; he wants to get his card. But something is ringing in his ears.

_Is it forever that he hopes our love will last? He did not answer._

_And now my daylight thoughts are as tangled as my black hair._

Keith reaches a hand back--slowly, hesitantly. It reaches his sweat coated hair and cards through it, slowed by knots and feelings and tangles.

_Damn it, Shiro._

There’s a wetness that paints his eyes, threatening to darken the tatami. He refuses to let it fall in here. Keith waits until the thuds resume to open the door and run out.

When he does, however, he manages to run straight into the back of someone standing just outside the door.

He steps back, rubbing his nose as the stranger moves to shut the door behind him. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

_Wait._

_I know that voice._

“Shiro?!”

“Keith? What are you doing out here?”

Keith tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “You were out here this entire time?”

Shiro grimaces. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“But I was being a dick!”

_Smooth, Keith._

“Yeah, you were.” Shiro responds simply.

_Well, no need to be so forthright_ , Keith thinks, only a little bitterly.

“But despite what you may think, you don’t get to choose when I care about you and when I don’t.” He puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “For the record, I’ve always cared, and I always will. You may be an asshole sometimes, and I’m definitely inconsiderate _a lot_ \--”

“Shiro, you’re not at fault--”

He holds up a hand. “I love you, Keith. I won’t stop supporting you just because of one little spat we had. And I’ll keep working to be better for you, and if that means being more of a realist than an idealist, I’ll happily make that change.”

Keith finally leans into Shiro’s touch and closes his eyes.

“Although, I don’t think I was being an idealist when I said that you would win.”

“I was being so _stupid_ ,” Keith finally says after Shiro has finished. “I love that you encourage me with every damn breath that you have.” Shiro chuckles at that, and Keith does too. “I love that you spend your Saturdays with me. And your Sundays. And your weekdays. I love that you brush my hair before my tournaments.”

“Speaking of, you really did a number on it in that stuffy room, didn’t you?” Shiro says, lifting up a congealed strand of hair that hangs over Keith’s face. “We can’t have you playing in the finals with your hair in your eyes, can we?”

But Keith takes the initiative here, dragging him back to that room, back to that stool. He grabs the brush, once not long ago, sitting lonely on the old, wooden floor.

Keith thinks it looks nice and warm in Shiro’s hands. 

“So hasty,” Shiro comments with a laugh as Keith sits himself down on the stool.

“Just shut up and brush my hair,” Keith replies with a smile on his face. Shiro knows it’s there too. The brush brings them back together again, which is odd, considering how useless it was just five minutes ago, on the floor, cold. Shiro is just as gentle as he was before, perhaps even more so, though Keith doubts it’s possible.  
“So it looks like you were a bit stressed out in there without me, huh?” Shiro teases as he takes out every single tangle. “At least, it seems that way judging from how gross it is.”

“You caused a lot of that sweat,” Keith mutters without looking down. “Could you try to be a less important part of my life?” he says, chuckling.

“‘Fraid I can’t do anything about that,” Shiro says without a hint of remorse, before planting a kiss on Keith’s cheek.

When he’s finally done, Shiro cards his fingers through Keith’s finally untangled hair. “Do you mind if I try something real quick?”

“Be my guest?” Keith replies, his voice raised. Shiro gets up and heads to his bag, pulling out a long, red ribbon. “A ribbon. Really?”

“Really!” Shiro says, laughing a little. “It’ll help keep your hair out of your eyes while you’re playing, and I think you’ll look really good with it.”

“Fine, you can put a ribbon in my hair,” Keith concedes, smiling. “But don’t tie my hair in a bun!”

Shiro pouts. “But that’s how I was going to do your hair.”

“Shiro,” Keith whines.

Shiro holds his hands up. “I’m not gonna force you to do something you’re not comfortable with!”

Keith looks at the ground with guilt tugging at his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that! Shiro… Ugh. Just do it. I’ll live.”

“I promise, you’ll look great,” Shiro assures him as he starts pulling back parts of his hair. “I got to practice.”

“On who?!” Keith says with a laugh.

“Pidge _and_ Hunk. All I had to do was convince Hunk, and then Pidge was a cinch, although Hunk’s hair wasn’t _quite_ long enough.”

Keith chuckles. “I guess I believe that.” He rubs the back of his neck, now noticing a distinct lack of hair. Instead, it’s now gathered in a loose mess behind his head--suspended, yet flexible. “This is really weird Shiro…”

“No, it’s not,” Shiro assures him. “All the kids have man buns these days.”

“Shiro, this is like, a _legit_ mess.”

“I practiced!”

“Who even taught you how to do this?”

Shiro holds his tongue. “Uh… my mom.”

Keith has to keep himself from cracking up, right then and there. “Your mom? You asked your _mom_ how to tie a hair bun? How’d she react to that?”

Shiro shrugs. “She told me that I wasn’t allowed to practice on her, but otherwise seemed unfazed.”

“God, I love your mom,” Keith mumbles. “She totally shuts you down, especially when I don’t have the courage to.”

“Ouch. You had no problem ragging me right there.”

“Sorry, babe,” Keith apologizes, looking up to kiss Shiro on the nose.

“It’s okay, I’ll just have to practice more often,” Shiro says, shrugging.

“Whoa, whoa, this isn’t gonna be a common occurrence!”

“But Keith!”

* * *

_“Fu--”_

Keith decides early on that he’s going to every single one syllable card on the mat.

He’s three for three so far.

_“--ku kara ni, aki no kusaki no, shiorureba. Mube yama kaze o, arashi to iuran.”_  
_(It is by its breath that autumn's leaves of trees and grass are wasted and driven. So they call this mountain wind the wild one, the destroyer.)_

The card flies on the gusts of its words towards the crowd and lands in front of Shiro, holding it out to Keith as he goes to retrieve it. There’s an exchange of smiles that takes place, and maybe a whisper of encouragement, but Keith only needs to see Shiro to feel his presence.

_“Mu--”_

This card is Keith’s too. Its words, its thoughts, its message; all of them belong to Keith as soon as his finger touches the card first.

_“--rasame no, tsuyu mo mada hinu, maki no ha ni. Kiri tachinoboru, aki no yugure.”_  
_(An autumn eve: See the valley mists arise among the fir leaves that still hold the dripping wet of the chill day's sudden showers.)_

There isn’t even a competition at this point: never in Keith’s tournament history has he performed this well in a B-Rank tournament, and in the finals, no less. He’s two cards away from achieving A-Rank, from joining Hunk and Pidge and Shiro in the upper echelons of karuta play.

_I’ll be there soon, guys. Just wait a little bit longer._

As the reader forms a syllable on her tongue, Keith already knows what card she’s reading and exactly where it is.

It’s one of his favorite cards.

_“U--”_

Then again, about all one syllable cards are Keith’s favorites.

He swipes, and his aim is so precise that there isn’t even a thud as he slides the card away.

_“--rami wabi, hosanu sode da ni, aru mono o. Koi ni kuchinan, na koso oshi kere.”_  
_(Even when your hate makes me stain my sleeves with tears in cold misery, worse than hate and misery is the loss of my good name.)_

The last card on Keith’s side of the field is a one-syllable, and he knows he’ll get it; it’s just a matter of when the reader calls it out.

_“Chigiri o--”_

Keith doesn’t swing. He hates cards with that many syllables anyhow.

_“--kishi, sasemo ga tsuyu o, inochi ni te. Aware kotoshi no, aki mo inumeri.”_  
_(As dew promises new life to the thirsty plant, so did your vow to me. Yet the year has passed away, and autumn has come again.)_

Keith dares to sneak a glance at Shiro, who’s pouting as if to say _even if you hate them, you should still swing. You just look like an asshole when you don’t move._

But looks can’t say all that, so Keith imagines that Shiro is just saying, _I love you._

The reader lifts a card to her face.

_“Ho--”_

After a thud, Keith bows down.

_“Arigatou gozaimashita.”_

When he lifts his head back up, he realizes his eyes are wet again. But he isn’t upset this time.

No, this time when he barrels into Shiro after his match, it’s intentional, and the hug is as long as Keith’s hair.


	4. All my being is aflame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg this is so late, even though I'm finally on break... sorry :(((  
> Also, the story progression in this is just--awful. Thank you so much for beta'ing thru this hell, akishime~

_

Pidge

_

Karuta had been a part of Pidge’s life for as long as she could remember. Poems echoed off the walls of her home--their musical cadence following her through the halls and into its rooms--they never stopped.

But that didn’t bother her. She grew to love the words, finding comfort in their syllables--the ones that floated through her hair and danced into her ears. 

It all started with their father.

Karuta was all but a _religion_ for Samuel Holt. In his teenage years, he placed well at A-rank tournaments, but never seemed to yearn for more than the thrill of the game. 

He passed that love on to his firstborn--a boy named Matt, who saw the cards through sandy hair and his father’s old spectacles. Matt wasn’t nearly as good at karuta as his father, but he still listened intently when the old tape recordings rolled, his gaze trained on the tatami, a gleam in his eyes.

His younger sister, Katie, barely more than five years old, soon found herself on that mat, knees bruised, fingers callused, smiling as her older brother beat her to every single poem.

Karuta brought them together.

But at some point, Katie got better. Much better. She started beating Matt to cards. She started beating Matt to his _favorite_ cards. And for a while, Matt didn’t let it get to him. He kept at it, kept trying to get better, faster. 

See, when karuta loses its color, it’s hard to keep playing.

And so he stopped.

He stopped listening, stopped playing, stopped going to Katie’s tournaments. He was last to know of her new nickname--Pidge. It was given to her by someone at the local club. Probably.

He wasn’t sure.

It isn’t as though he didn’t support her. He did, just, not in karuta. When your little sister, who’s listened less than you, played less than you, _lived_ less than you--when that person surpasses you, it’s hard to watch. It’s hard to keep your eyes open.

His father scolded him for it, but Pidge assured him that it was alright. And so, over time, he learned to forget karuta. After all, his sister said it was alright.

He didn’t know she cried.

* * *

“You ready?”

“Naturally.”

Hunk laughs, but Pidge doesn’t mind. She does feel ready. Truly. She practices far too much to afford any sort of nerves at this stage of the game. Sitting on a small stool in the middle of a small room, Hunk’s mere conversational presence presses her against the walls, suffocating but familiar all the same. She hooks her legs underneath her chair. 

“The Queen qualifier semi-finals…” Hunk mutters before shaking his head. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Please don’t inflate my ego,” Pidge murmurs, staring at her crossed legs. “Everyone here has every right to be on the tatami.” Her eyes peer up for just a second. “Yourself included.”

If Pidge weren’t so observant, she might’ve missed the flash of pink that dashed across Hunk’s cheekbones. She doesn’t comment on it, but she does give him a weak smirk. _So you can call other people amazing, but can’t handle it when someone returns the compliment?_

Her smile goes away.

_Jeez._

Hunk pats her on the back, and there’s a warmth that beats into her with rhythm. Hunk’s always been warm. They play karuta together. He’s like a brother.

She wonders what Matt’s doing. 

“Look, even if you don’t win, we are all so proud of you for making it this far,” Hunk beams, his hand still on Pidge’s shoulder. 

“I _want_ to win, though,” Pidge mutters, her glasses hanging low on her nose. Normally, she’d push them back up. Not now, though. “I’ve worked at this for _so long_ , Hunk.”

“You and me both, buddy. You and me both.”

Pidge gives a sad smile, even though she’s still not looking at Hunk, and there’s no possible way for him to see her face. “Remember when I told you stop calling me buddy?”

Hunk hums in response.

“Stop calling me buddy.”

_Pidge was supposed to replace that a long time ago._

Hunk chuckles, but he holds up his hands. “Fair enough. I’ll do my best if you do yours!” As he walks away, a bounce in his step and the sun in his eyes, Pidge can’t help but steal a glance at Hunk, to see his carefree smile and his ridiculously saffron headband. It’s sweet.

And so, _so,_ disgusting.

“Yeah, yeah, go be all soft and fluffy to Lance, alright?” Pidge mutters, turning back towards the wall, waving a hand behind her. “It’s gross.”

_“Love youuuuu--”_

_“Hunk.”_

The wooden panel slides shut, and Pidge is alone.

Alone. 

She wonders if it’s something to be desired. If being alone is what allows someone to think, to process, then maybe it’s something to be feared.

She doesn’t want to think.

Not about karuta. Not about the poems that echoed off her walls or the ties that once bound them.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and then a voice: “Pidge?”

It’s Shiro. Of course it’s Shiro. Next to Hunk, Shiro is probably the closest thing to family as far as karuta and the club and just about all parts of high school go if she’s being honest.

Pidge answers just as softly. “Yeah?”

“Your match starts in five minutes,” he calls in, his voice nearly a whisper. It’s not atypical for Shiro to be this quiet; his voice might be strong, commanding even, acting as captain, but it’s always gentle and soft with Pidge, especially when they’re alone. 

Alone.

She supposes being alone isn’t necessarily always being alone with oneself. You can be alone with another person, like Shiro.

“Thanks, Shiro,” she finally calls back, loud enough to just barely get her voice through the door.

“Can I come in?”

Pidge sighs. _So much for being alone._ “Yeah, sure.”

As the door slides back open, Pidge can’t help but turn back to the opposite wall. Couldn’t look at Hunk, can’t look at Shiro. _What is wrong with me today?_

The door slides shut. “How’re you feeling?”

“Don’t come in here and ask me the same questions Hunk asked,” Pidge deadpans.

Shiro chuckles. “Fine. What color is your hair?”

“Shiro, you know what color my hair is.”

“You told me not to ask the same questions as Hunk!” Shiro complains, a quiet laugh escaping him. He crosses his arms, mirth filling his kind eyes. “There’s no _way_ Hunk asked you that question.”

“You may be our captain, but you can be such a _kid_ sometimes, you know that?” Pidge observes, running a hand through her hair. It’s way past her shoulders at this point, which is hardly helpful for karuta, but she doesn’t plan on getting it cut anytime soon. 

Shiro only laughs at that, running a hand through his own white forelock. “I’m barely halfway through high school, you know that?” he echoes, chuckling.

“That’s a weak excuse,” Pidge snorts. “It’s hard to look up to a childish captain.”

“Hey! I’m hardly childish,” Shiro complains, lifting Pidge off of her gloomy stool, despite her yelps of protest. Almost comically, he levels his own head and hers with his hand, showcasing the sizable height difference Pidge so despised. “If _anyone_ is childish here--”

“I _know_ you’re not making a comment about my height,” Pidge states, staring directly at Shiro’s eyes.

“I would _never_ ,” Shiro assures her with a smirk.

_Bastard._

She smiles anyway.

Shiro steps back and scratches his temple. “Alright, then… What’s another question Hunk probably didn’t ask you?”

“That doesn’t have a discrete answer,” Pidge argues. “But I suppose what you just asked is fundamentally different than anything Hunk asked,” she mutters as she looks at the ceiling. “After all, why would Hunk ask about what he didn’t ask me?”

“Uh, okay,” Shiro coughs. “You know, you could’ve just picked one.”

Pidge cocks her head. “How could I have picked the one question out of the infinite amount that you wanted?”

“I wasn’t really looking for anything in particular--”

“But you weren’t looking for me to talk about the question you already offered,” Pidge counters.

They both go silent, before the room is filled with laughter. 

“Alright, you little _bird_ , stop being smart with me,” Shiro says, nudging Pidge on the shoulder.

“Fine, _Dad_ \--”

“Oh my god, are _you_ the reason everyone keeps calling me _Dad?_ ” Shiro asks, his face erupting in rosy red the same way the room did with laughter.

Pidge pushes her glasses up with a smirk.

“Ugh, Hunk called me that in front of a teacher the other day,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “I had to explain to him that it was _not_ a daddy kink and that we were _not_ dating.”

“Good,” Pidge laughs, throwing her head back a little. “That means it’s working. As long as you respond to it, we’ll keep calling you it.”

Shiro groans. “I came in here to pump you up, and now I’m being tormented?” He shakes his head. “ _Unbelievable_.”

Now it’s Pidge’s turn to pat Shiro on the back. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten by in the past, yeah?”

“I guess,” Shiro mumbles. “But seriously, if you’re nervous or anything, we’re all here for you.”

“I _know_ , Dad,” she says as she pushes him towards the door.

“I’m not gonna respond to that anymore!” Shiro maintains, standing his ground even as Pidge starts pushing him out with her entire body.

“Yeah, yeah--”

“Yes!” Shiro insists.

He’s out the door now, and Pidge waves by with a smirk. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro gives her a hearty smile before sliding the door shut. Just before it closes, though, Pidge has an idea:

“Wait, _Dad!_ ” He pauses and looks back in, only to find Pidge snickering. He had responded. Again. “You’ll _never_ learn,” she gets out between laughs.

Shiro groans before slamming the door shut behind him. And even though Shiro came to visit her, to make her feel better, the silence after the giggles receded seemed louder than ever. Suddenly, she feels very alone.

Alone. 

And this time, it’s her own fault completely: Shiro had offered to stay, she pushed him away.

But this time, it seems her loneliness will stay with her, at least for a while. Lance won’t come--Hunk would probably keep him from visiting, having seen her already. Keith wouldn’t come in the first place; he’s not so great at the whole one-on-one thing, unless it’s with Shiro.

The solemnity that comes with being alone is daunting. It’s hard to hide from yourself, after all.

You’re always with yourself, but you hardly ever seek yourself out. Walking side by side, exactly alike, yet total strangers. When you’re alone, you can’t escape it. The unknown is a terrifying concept. And if Pidge thinks about it, she’s been stuck with no one but herself for a long, long time. _But solitude isn’t always harmful_ , she thinks. At least _I’m_ there to play karuta. 

_Unlike Matt._

She slams her fist into the wall.

_Not now. Not when there’s so much at stake!_

She smooths out the wrinkles on her pleated hakama. _He hasn’t been here for a long time. What does he matter to me now?_

_Nothing._

She wishes that Matt would stop being _nothing_ to her. Then she wouldn’t feel so alone. After all, when _nothing_ is on your mind, what else can you think about but the person that isn’t with you?

* * *

There’s a crowd. 

It’s an important match, so it’s only natural that there’s a crowd. But despite it’s size, Pidge still feels _nothing_ , feels Matt tugging at her brain, at her cold fingers and her numb toes. 

She knocks at the side of her head, with perhaps more force than necessary, in an effort to get him out.

_Not now._

A man in a suit clears his throat. “The match will begin momentarily. Spectators, please take your seats and remain quiet. Players, good luck to all of you.”

Pidge scans the group of watchers one more time, but to no avail. As the door slides shut, she lets out a long, labored breath. 

The girl across from her, who seemed kind enough, gives Pidge a weird look; concern knotting her brows and worry painted on her lips. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Pidge breathes.

She smiles and extends her hand. “I’m Allura.”

Pidge pauses, before finally reciprocating. “Flattered, but I knew that from your card.” 

“I know, I just thought it’d be nice to introduce myself in person,” Allura mentions with a shrug. “Make you a bit more comfortable before we start.”

“You’re the kindest competitor I’ve ever met, you know that?”

She lets out one quick laugh. “Kill them with kindness, a friend of mine used to say.”

“Oh, so you’re just trying to make me let my guard down?” Pidge laughs.

“Drat, I’ve given away my secret!” she exclaims with a wink.

Pidge chuckles before an officiator shushes them.

The opening poem resounds.

_“Naniwa-zu ni, sakuya kono hana, fuyu-gomori.”_  
_(In Naniwa Bay, now the flowers are blooming, having survived winter.)_

The reader pauses. Breathes.

_“Ima o harube to, sakuya kono hana.”_  
_(The spring has finally come, now the flowers are blooming.)_

Pidge and Allura lean forward, light on their hands and heavy on their knees.

_“Kiri--”_

She swings for the card on her own side, and it spins away with a cry of anguish.

_“--girisu, naku ya shimo yo no, samushiro ni. Koromo katashiki, hitori kamo nen.”_  
_(In my cold bed, drawing close my folded quilt, I sleep alone, while all through the frosty night I hear a cricket's lonely sound.)_

Alone.

_Well. That’s a happy card to start with._

She shakes the thought away, leaving nothing but karuta in her head. 

Nothing.

It’s cold.

_“Kaku--”_

Allura beats her to this one--she’s fast, faster than most people Pidge has ever played against. She’d be intimidated if the girl weren’t so damn kind.

_“--to dani, eyawa ibuki no, sashimogusa. Sashimo shiraji na, moyuru omoi o.”_  
_(How can I tell her how fierce my love for her is? Will she understand that the love I feel for her burns like Ibuki's fire plant?)_

Is it nothing, Pidge wonders, which drives her to keep playing?

_“Shi--”_

_A situational one-syllable!_

Pidge dives for it, but comes up short. Allura is already there, her arm cutting through the field like a torrent. 

_“--ratsuyu o, kaze no fukishiku, aki no no wa. Tsuranuki tomenu, tama zo chiri keru.”_  
_(In the autumn fields when the heedless wind blows by over the pure-white dew, how the myriad unstrung gems are scattered everywhere around.)_

It’s funny.

It certainly doesn’t feel like nothing is making her continue playing karuta. Certainly _something_ keeps her on the tatami. 

Right?

_“Chi--”_

The thud is quieter this time--Allura pinpointed the card right away.

_“--hayafuru, kamiyo mo kikazu, Tatsuta-gawa. Kara kurenai ni, mizu kukuru to wa.”_  
_(Even when the gods held sway in the ancient days, I have never heard that water gleamed with autumn red as in Tatsuta River.)_

Somewhere in the crowd, Lance groans. Pidge thinks it isn’t his place to groan for her, but she doesn’t think she could spare a moment to groan anyhow.

She retains her stout gaze over the field and her stalwart frame, though inside, she poses herself a question. _If Matt is what tethers me to karuta, then what will happen if he never shows up?_

_“Tama--”_

Pidge doesn’t even reach for this card.

_“--no o yo, taenaba taene, nagaraeba. Shinoburu koto no, yowari mo zo suru.”_  
_(Like a string of gems grown weak, my life will break now; For if I live on, all I do to hide my love may at last grow weak and fail.)_

_Will I quit?_

Allura sports a frown as she looks at the mind-muddled Pidge, but she makes no comment. They’re in the middle of the semi-finals, after all.

Pidge sighs.

_“Konu--”_

As Allura swipes this card away too, Pidge’s eyes go as round as her glasses.

_“--hito o, matsuho no ura no, yunagi ni. Yaku ya moshio no, mi mo kogare tsutsu.”_

_Like the salt sea-weed, burning in the evening calm. On Matsuo's shore, all my being is aflame, waiting for one who does not come._

Pidge makes a muted, strangled noise, like a duck with fish stuck in its throat.

 _“Sumimasen,”_ Allura interrupts as she stands up to look at the board. In the crowd, Lance takes this chance to step out of the room, probably to be loud outside, Pidge thinks. While she looks down at the cards, she lets out a whisper: “Are you alright?”

Pidge looks up, her eyes slightly red.

_She’s concerned about me in the middle of a match?_

_That’s ridiculous._

Nonetheless, Pidge slowly nods her head.

Allura frowns. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Allura confirms, staring directly at Pidge’s red-rimmed eyes. “Look, I don’t know who it is that’s being a complete asshole to you, but don’t let it bother you. You’re more important right now. And after the match, who knows? Maybe if you reach out first, they’ll be willing to follow.”

_I’m more important…_

Pidge exhales, slowly.

_Alright. Worth a shot._

This time, the little bob of the head Pidge makes is a show of determination, not a lie. Allura returns to her kneeling position, a small smile on her face. “Looks like I’m finally gonna have an opponent,” she murmurs with a smirk.

Pidge grins back. “You’re gonna regret helping me out.”

* * *

_“Kono--”_

The thud this time is solitary--the match to Pidge’s side had been for a long time, won in a landslide by some karuta genius.

But even though Pidge is the one that hits the card first, she’s not alone.

Alone.

No, not alone. Allura swings too, albeit at a moment too late; the card flies out of reach, out of sight toward the corner of the mat.

_“--tabi wa, nusa mo toriaezu, Tamukeyama. Momiji no nishiki, kami no mani mani.”_  
_(At the present time, since I could bring no offering, see Mount Tamuke! Here are brocades of red leaves, as a tribute to the gods.)_

There are eight cards left in play; three on Allura’s side, and five on Pidge’s.

“I told you I wouldn’t make it easy once you sympathized with your opponent,” Pidge chuckles, not looking away from the tatami.

Allura readjusts her hairbun, making sure it can’t fall in her face. “You haven’t won yet,” she points out, smiling at the cards.

_“Taki--”_

Pidge lunges again--the card is on her own side, and her jade kimono gets there first.

_“--no oto wa, taete hisashiku, narinuredo. Na koso nagarete, nao kikoe kere.”_  
_(Though the waterfall ceased its flowing long ago, and its sound is stilled, yet, in name it ever flows and in fame may yet be heard.)_

Three left for Allura, four left for her.

Pidge exhales.

_Okay._

_There are two “a” cards left; ama, and asaborake. I can go for ama at the second syllable, but asaji hasn’t been read, so I have to wait until the third syllable for asaborake._

_Momoshiki has been read, so I can go for morotomo at mo, making that card a one-syllable._

_Two “ko” cards are left on the field, and they’re the only “ko” cards that haven’t been read yet, so I can go for kore and kokoro at the hard second syllable, just as the sound starts to form._

_Wasureji is still there, but wasuraruru hasn’t been read, so I have to wait until the third syllable to take that card._

_And “fu” is always one syllable._

Pidge closes her eyes and exhales one more time.

_Okay._

_“Koko--”_

_There!_

Pidge takes it easily.

_“--roate ni, orabaya oran, hatsushimo no. Oki madowaseru, shiragiku no hana.”_  
_(If it were my wish to pick the white chrysanthemums, puzzled by the frost of the early autumn time, I by chance might pluck the flower.)_

The score is even now, but this isn’t the first time Pidge thinks she might win. There was always a chance.

_I can go for kore at “ko” now, so I just have to be quicker on the draw than Allura to get that card._

_“Wa--”_

_Wait for the third syllable!_

_“--sure--”_

The card is lonely over by Allura’s left leg, but it’s quickly approached by two friendly hands, both eager to make it their own. Allura is just a bit faster though, the card sliding away from Pidge’s fingertips.

“Shoot. Nice one,” Pidge mumbles, which gets Allura to smile.

_“--ji no, yukusue made wa, katakereba. Kyo o kagiri no, inochi to mo gana.”_  
_(If remembering me will for him in future years be too difficult, it would be well this very day, that I should end my life.)_

Five cards are left.

And as much as Pidge wants to win, she really just wants to call Matt once the match is over.

But she supposes winning comes first.

_“Asa--”_

_Wait again!_

_“--bo--”_

_This time it’s mine!_

And as Pidge slides her hand across the tatami and onto the card, she lets out a little laugh. Why isn’t karuta always this fun?

_“--rake, ariake no tsuki to, miru made ni. Yoshino no sato ni, fureru shirayuki.”_  
_(At the break of day, just as though the morning moon lightened the dim scene, Yoshino's village lay in a haze of falling snow.)_

Two cards against two cards. If Pidge doesn’t take the next two, then it’ll come down to luck.

Normally, that would bother her. But here--playing against Allura, playing with expectations for the future, playing without pressure--she can’t see why it should matter. Luck makes a game way more interesting anyway.

_“Fu--”_

Pidge gets the first lead she’s had in a while.

_“--kara ni, aki no kusaki no, shiorureba.Mube yama kaze o, arashi to iuran.”_  
_(It is by its breath that autumn's leaves of trees and grass are wasted and driven. So they call this mountain wind the wild one, the destroyer.)_

_One more. One more and then I can call him._

_“Ama--”_

Allura is there, her lips pursed together, her face covered in sweat, and her fingers touching the card, far before Pidge even gets to that side of the field.

_“--tsu kaze, kumo no kayoiji, fuki toji yo. Otome no sugata, shibashi todomen.”_  
_(Let the winds of heaven blow through the paths among the clouds and close their gates. Then for a while I could detain these messengers in maiden form.)_

They’re left with one card on either side of the field. Pidge could guard her card faster than Allura could reach it. Allura could do the same with her own. It’s just a matter of which card the reader calls out first.

_“Tare--”_

Pidge lunges, but she lifts up her hand before she makes contact. The poem is dead.

_“--o ka mo, shiru hito ni sen, Takasago no. Matsu mo mukashi no, tomo nara naku ni.”_  
_(Who is still alive when I have grown so old that I can call my friends? Even Takasago's pines no longer offer comfort.)_

She’s been counting. She knows that there are only two cards left to be read in total. No dead cards, no distractions. One way or another, this match will end. If the reader starts with ko, Pidge will win. If the reader starts with mo, Allura will win.

But either way, Pidge will be on her phone, dialing Matt’s number.

She exhales.

_“Mo--”_

Allura quickly wraps her hand around the card on her own side of the field, and even though Pidge knows it’s futile, she lunges for the card. When she returns to her side of the field, she bows her body. _“Arigatou gozaimashita.”_

 _“Arigatou gozaimashita,”_ Allura breathes back. 

The crowd claps for them, congratulates them for an amazing match, but that doesn’t really matter to Pidge.

“Thank you, Allura,” she says, looking into her eyes with a keen smile. “I hope I can play against you again sometime.”

Allura sends back a meek smile. “Me too, Katie.”

Pidge extends her hand. “Call me Pidge.”

Allura laughs and shakes her hand. “Alright. See you later, Pidge. Good luck with whatever it is you’re going through!”

“Good luck to you too in your final match!”

* * *

In the lonely space of the hallway, Pidge waits.

She waits, as the phone rings and rings and rings. It feels as though it could last her entire life, ringing. 

_Come on, Matt. Pick up._

Finally, there’s a crackle on the other end, the rustle of hair as it brushes against the microphone on a phone.

Her heart speeds up. “Matt?”

“Who did you expect?” Matt says back with a teasing tone.

Pidge chuckles weakly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I uh, just lost my match.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Matt pauses, doesn’t respond. She wonders what kind of response he could be formulating.

“I’m really sorry, Katie.”

Pidge frowns. “It’s not your fault I lost--”

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon,” Matt explains in a hurried tone.

Pidge’s heart stops.

“Wait, Matt, don’t go!”

The dial tone fills her ears with static.

Slowly, she slumps against the wall, feels every rigid panel cut into her back as she falls.

_Matt._

For the first time that day, she cries without restraint.

There are footsteps approaching her, but she doesn’t care to look up. 

_Matt._

She didn’t think it was possible, but she’s somehow, once again, undesirably, alone.

Alone.

“Now, who said you could cry against that wall?”

She didn’t think it was possible, but she’s somehow, once again, undesirably, hearing Matt’s voice. She lifts her head, every movement of her body towards his voice more draining than the last. She sees Lance, sporting a cocky grin and windswept hair.

_Windswept?_

That’s when she sees another pair of feet behind him, and she cries again.

“Matt?”

There arms around her, lifting her up and keeping her warm. Matt puts his chin in her hair and talks to her in a whisper. “I am _so_ sorry I kept you waiting.”

Pidge shakes her head. “I didn’t make an effort either.”

“I was petty and stupid and a horrible brother--”

“Don’t call yourself that!” Pidge yells, hugging Matt even tighter. “We’re both at fault. I’m just glad you’re finally here.”

“I love you, Pidge. So, so much. And I’m sorry it took me so long to let you know,” Matt mutters into Pidge’s mussed up, sweaty hair. 

“I love you too, Matt. Thanks for coming, even if you are a little late,” she jokes, crying into Matt’s shoulder.

Matt chuckles. “I won’t ever let you be alone again. I promise.”

Alone.

Pidge isn’t scared of it anymore.


	5. The plum blossoms smell the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short conclusion.

__

Hunk

__

_  
_

“Look, you’re obviously gonna win. I have no idea what you’re so concerned about.”

Hunk frowns. “You’ve obviously never experienced the unbearable weight of _expectations_.”

“Ouch,” Lance drawls, clutching at his chest. “I go through unimaginable amounts of pain every time you play. Partially because your matches are boring and end quickly--”

“Wow, thanks babe.”

“--but also because I want you to win!” Lance finishes, not bothered by Hunk’s comment. He steps behind Hunk to rub his shoulders. “You’re ridiculously stupid if you think you don’t deserve to be here. You got here because you beat everyone else that you went up against.”

He slides his arms over Hunk’s shoulders to latch onto him in a close embrace. “But, that doesn’t mean you can slack off,” Lance hums. “It’s the finals of the East Masters qualifier, after all.”

Hunk twitches. When words are frightening, when they send chills down your spine and make your hair stand on end, something must be wrong. And Hunk is so, so cold, even though there’s a heater on his back that keeps touching his hair and rubbing circles into his tight shoulders. He sighs slowly, letting the warm air rush from his lungs, leaving him even colder.

“That’s part of the problem, Lance,” Hunk mutters, closing his eyes. “It wouldn’t be as bad if it were any other match.”

Lance finds his way back to Hunk’s front side and grabs ahold of the boy’s hands. “Then play it as if it were any other match!”

Hunk frowns, stress wrinkling his forehead where his headband usually is. “It isn’t that easy.”

“Only because you’re worrying so much,” Lance coos.

“Because it isn’t like any other match!” Hunk counters quickly. “I know you haven’t been with the team for that long, but even you should know that this is a big deal.”

“Hey!”

Hunk sighs for what seems like the thousandth time. “Sorry.”

Lance shrugs. “I’m not offended. And I know you didn’t mean it anyway.”

“Doesn’t excuse my outburst, though,” Hunk finishes, placing his hands on his thighs. “God, I wish I could handle pressure better.”

“No one expects you to not feel pressure, Hunk,” Lance explains with a slight frown. “That’d be asking the impossible.”

“Tons of people don’t feel pressure,” Hunk argues, tucking his legs behind the legs of the chair he’s sitting on.

“Those people are lying. Trust me, I do the same thing.”

Hunk thinks he should trust what Lance is saying-- _knows_ he should trust what Lance is saying. But his mind still searches for examples to prove him wrong. 

“But--”

Lance quickly puts a finger to Hunk’s lips. “You’re overthinking again.”

Hunk pouts, despite the volcanic warmth that erupts across the plains of his cheeks. “You’re underthinking.”

“That’s not a thing!” Lance pauses, running the words through his mind again before making sense of his thoughts. “Well, it is a _thing_ , but I’m not doing it! Seriously, what the heck do I need to do to get you to relax?!”

Hunk quickly grabs Lance’s hand and clutches against his chest. “Stay with me,” he says with a softness that doesn’t match the panic pulsing through his sweaty hand. “Please.”

His match is in less than twenty minutes, but he’s still in the prep room. It’s not his fault his legs won’t move. But even if they could, Hunk doubts he would use them. In this room, Hunk is safe, content, and with Lance. Out there, he’s…

Well. He’s not with Lance.

“Your match starts soon, buddy,” Lance replies with a small frown. “We gotta get you out there.”

“Please,” Hunk whispers with wide eyes.

Lance’s mouth cracks open ever so slightly, but it finally slides shut, and the boy smiles. “Alright.” Slowly, he works his way out of Hunk’s firm, yet sad grasp to grab another chair, which he puts directly in front of Hunk. Now seated, he finally takes Hunk’s hands--both of them this time--and hums.

Hunk stares at the ground longingly. He got his wish; Lance is here with him, for just a bit longer.

_So why am I still so cold?_

“Hm…” Lance drones, rubbing the back of Hunk’s hand with his thumb. “Where did your headband go?”

“Took it off,” Hunk murmurs. “Got too warm.”

_Too warm? Hard to believe that I ever was._

“Well, where’d ya put it?”

Hunk nods over Lance’s left shoulder to the where headband lies dormant on the mat. Not bothering to leave his chair, Lance lets go of one hand to reach back and grab it.

“Now, I may not know how to tie a hakama yet… But I _do_ know how to tie a headband!” Lance declares with a grin. He holds up the yellow piece of cloth in front of Hunk. “May I?”

Hunk tries to say yes, but he’s blushing too hard to do anything, so he settles for a hearty nod.

Lance’s fingers are nimble as he wraps the marigold fabric around Hunk’s forehead. His touch is softer than the headband itself, softer than even Egyptian cotton. And at some point, his tongue juts out from his lips in a show of concentration, which Hunk finds unbelievably cute, but he makes no comment, worried that something as simple as a word would make Lance stop.

When he’s finally finished, Lance sits back with a huff. “There. Now you won’t get cold!”

Hunk freezes.

_How did he know?A cold sweat, huh?_

“I _did_ tell you I’m nervous,” Hunk mumbles, pulling at his hands.

“And _I_ told you that you were amazing,” Lance recalls, grabbing one of Hunk’s hands. “And I’ll still be proud of you, no matter the outcome of the match.”

Hunk snorts. “You’re obligated to say that.”

“I would still say it even if it weren’t true.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Hunk sighs. But the air that makes up his sigh isn’t as cold as it used to be. Indeed, there might be a kindling of happiness in that little breath that he exhales.

“Oh, before I forget!” Lance starts, leaving Hunk on the edge of his seat as he goes to grab his bag. “I got something for you!”

“A gift? Seriously, Lance, it’s just karuta,” Hunk teases.

Lance scratches his head. “Well, it’s _kinda_ for you. But it’s actually going to me.”

Hunk opens his mouth to respond, but when he can’t find the words, he just laughs. Warm, sunny laughs. His eyes are crinkled and smiling just as much as his mouth is when he finally replies. “Lance, that’s not how gift giving works.”

“You’ll understand when you see it,” Lance bristles. “I’m not _that_ much of an ass, yeesh.”

“Certainly have a nice one though--”

“Shut it, you!” Lance scolds as he rummages through the bag. “Finally, here’s the little bugger.”

Hunk isn’t sure what he expects Lance to pull out of his bag.

But he certainly doesn’t expect to see a long, azure headband. “Now everyone who sees me will know that I’m supporting you!”

Hunk is at a loss for words.

“Lance… It’s wonderful,” is all he manages. “Thank you.”

“You wanna tie it on for me?”

Hunk thinks he might be back to a normal body temperature now, or even above it, as he nods his head. He motions to the chair so that Lance can sit in front of him again. The piece of ocean in his hands is as soft as Lance’s fingers, and Hunk worries that it’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful.

As he lifts the hairband up to Lance’s head, Lance closes his eyes. With trembling fingers, he wraps the blue cloth around his head.

“Jeez, why so shaky, bud?” Lance teases.

“Hey! You’re the one that gave this gift,” Hunk complains as he continues to tie the headband. “You can’t make fun of me for my stress-induced tremors.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance laughs, his eyes still closed.

With a sense of finality, Hunk lets the two long tails of the headband dangle behind Lance’s shoulders. “There.”

“Mm, I feel more connected to you already,” Lance hums.

“God, you’re cheesy,” Hunk complains, although he’s smiling as he does so.

And when he leaves the room for the match, Hunk is warm.

* * *

_“Awa--”_

Hunk flicks the card away, his arm fluid, soft, and precise.

_“--ji shima, kayou chidori no, naku koe ni. Ikuyo nezamenu, Suma no sekimori.”_   
_(Guard of Suma Gate, from your sleep, how many nights have you awakened at the cries of sanderlings, flying from Awaji Island?)_

His victory is all but assured at this point. Ahead by ten cards, with only four left on his own side, Hunk had taken a nearly insurmountable lead against his opponent. And it was certainly impressive to have such a lead in such an important tournament.

Needless to say, Lance was proud to wear his blue headband as he watched.

“Good going, babe!” he yells from the side of the room, despite the berating he receives from several officials in the room, all but one of which threaten to remove him.

Hunk feels his blush before his opponent sees it, and to his chagrin, he hears the guy start to snicker.

“Not a _word_ ,” Hunk mumbles.

_How can he even afford to laugh during such an important match?_

Hunk stares at the field of cards on the tatami; the ceruleans and the cerises that dot the mat, before realizing how much of a lead he really has.

_Oh._

_Perhaps he’s given up._

“I haven’t,” the boy says, reading Hunk’s thoughts. “I’m not against having fun during a match. It doesn’t mean I’ve given up on winning.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “But karuta is the part that supposed to be fun, isn’t it?”

_“Ukari--”_

His opponent swipes this one away before Hunk can even react.

_Damn, I got distracted._

_“--keru, hito o Hatsuse no, yama oroshiyo. Hageshikare to wa, inoranu mono o.”_   
_(It was not for this I prayed at the holy shrine: That she would become as pitiless and as cold as the storms on Hase's hills.)_

The boy across from him continues their conversation as though it hadn’t ever stopped. “Sure, karuta is fun. But practicing your poems with a recording is way different than playing with a friend, or even with some random person like me.”

_People are what makes karuta fun?_

“You’ve never considered that, huh?”

“Don’t listen to his seductive talk, Hunk!” Lance calls out from the side.

And while he intended to make Hunk focus on the match at hand with that comment, he actually confirmed what the boy in front of Hunk was saying. And Hunk laughs because of it.

“You get it now?”

Hunk turns to smile at the boy whose grin and headband paints part of the tatami blue. And surrounding that boy are others; a boy whose passion dots the field with fiery reds, a girl whose wit dyes the mat with envious greens, and a boy whose friendliness and leadership coats some cards with a reliable ebony.

_Karuta is full of colors…_

_But it’s full of people, too._

_“Sa--”_

Hunk darts for the emerald poem.

_“--bishisa ni, yado o tachi idete, nagamureba. Izuko mo onaji, aki no yugure.”_   
_(In my loneliness, I leave my little hut. When I look around, everywhere it is the same: One lone, darkening autumn eve.)_

_Important people._

Hunk stares at the piece of green in his hand, hoping that with only a stare, he can tell Pidge that he’ll always be there for her, even when she’s lonely.

The reader continues.

_“Fu--”_

A fire ignites on the tatami, and Hunk is quick to extinguish it with his hand.

_“--ku kara ni, aki no kusaki no, shiorureba. Mube yama kaze o, arashi to iuran.”_   
_(It is by its breath that autumn's leaves of trees and grass are wasted and driven. So they call this mountain wind the wild one, the destroyer.)_

He feels Keith’s heart pounding inside his chest--feels his anger and his spirit, pushing him forward.

_“Oku--”_

He feels it before he sees it; the choking, sable dust that resonates with a different kind of loneliness than Pidge’s; a loneliness that comes with being a leader.

_“--yama ni, momiji fumiwake, naku shika no. Koe kiku toki zo, aki wa kanashiki.”_   
_(In the mountain depths, treading through the crimson leaves, the wandering stag calls. When I hear the lonely cry, sad--how sad!--the autumn is.)_

He has one card to go.

It’s blue.

Barely a sound has left the reader’s lips before Hunk swipes the card away.

_“Hito wa isa, kokoro mo shirazu, furusato wa. Hana zo mukashi no, ka ni nioi keru.”_   
_(The depths of the hearts of humankind cannot be known. But in my birthplace, the plum blossoms smell the same as in the years gone by.)_

His opponent bows his body down. _“Arigatou gozaimashita.”_

Hunk returns it.

And while there’s an explosion of applause, Hunk can only hear the beating of his heart in his chest--fast, uneven, powerful.

_When did karuta become so blue?_

But when he turns and sees Lance with a giant grin, running towards him with the tails of his blue headband flapping about, he understands.

Lance barrels into him, hugging him and kissing him and congratulating him.

“God, I love you so much,” Hunk says through all the clamor, and while Lance might not have even heard him, Hunk is happy.

Because with Lance and Shiro and Pidge and Keith in his life, karuta isn’t the only thing that’s full of colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you sticked around through all of this messy nonsense, thank you so much, and I really hope you enjoyed!! It's kinda weird to think that I started writing one whole year ago (I mean, I posted the first chapter of my first fic EVER this very day last year!!)
> 
> Wow. 
> 
> Anyway. Thank y'all again for being amazing and dealing with this crap haha.   
> \- ceph


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